Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta
by Phoenix II
Summary: The longawaited sequel to Rescue Me. Title comes from a strange Spanish song I found myself singing one night called La Llorona. Translates to Although It Costs Me My Life. Style, KennyBebe, ButtersLexus, OMCOMC, OMCOFC
1. Prologue

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta…**

_**Prologue**_

**Disclaimer: I can only lay claim to the original characters presented in this story. And perhaps some of the situations. But other than that…not mine.**

**Author's Notes: Well, here it is…sort of. This is just a little prologue that I figured I ought to stick in, make the first actual chapter more explicable. I hope you enjoy it!!**

**-.-**

**January 9, 2009**

**Denver General Hospital**

**Denver, CO**

Doctors and nurses in blue scrubs surround me, encouraging me to "breathe deep" and "PUSH!!" I must admit, I'd like nothing more than to do both, but I find myself incapable of performing these tasks simultaneously. And to top it all off, it HURTS!

"It," by the way, is the delivery. Of my twin boys. I've known this for the better part of three months now, and I still don't know what I'm going to do with them; whether I should keep them or give them up for adoption.

My uncertainty is a result of the method of their conception. To be honest, I'm still not sure how it happened myself. I'd only been to one party that semester, to my boyfriend's fraternity formal. To my knowledge, I consumed nothing overly alcoholic, but on the other hand I don't remember the ride back to my place either. One thing is certain though, a week or so later I was staring at a positive pregnancy test.

No time for flashbacks, though…I've got to "PUSH!!" My entire body's gripped by pain, there's a flurry of activity on the part of the doctors, and I'm half-done. The head doctor passes a boy with a dusting of red hair off to a nurse, who wraps the child in a blanket. I'm afforded a brief respite from the pain, just enough time to feel the aches, really, before the other twin gets lonely and decides he'd best follow along.

It's a little easier this time, round, and only takes a few deep breaths and intense concentration before a little boy with a dusting of black hair joins his brother, and they're whisked off for cleaning. I'll see them afterwards, but for now…I need to rest.

-.-

Roughly a half an hour later, I see my boys cleaned and dressed, and looking at the way they sleep, with one hand intertwined with one of their sibling's, I come to a decision. I can't keep them for myself. There's a striking feeling that accompanies this revelation, and I get the feeling that I've done two people a great favor in this.

I inform the nurse of my decision, and she tells me she'll call Social Services to get started on the paperwork.

-.-

By the time I'm discharged, I've signed my twins over to the temporary care of the State of Colorado, and included a stipulation that they are not to be split up. If someone wishes to adopt one, they have to take the other as well. The way I saw them sleeping made that certain in my mind.

I've seen them awake since then, and I'm actually looking at them once last time before I leave this hospital. I'm already one semester behind on my degree…I need to get back to work.

-.-

**Author's Notes: **OK, there it is. I don't know when I'll update this again, but I'm looking forward to telling the rest of the tale of these little guys!

Phoenix II


	2. Introductions

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta…**

_**Chapter One – Introductions**_

**Disclaimer: I own the OCs, nothing more.**

**Summary: Styleboys meet the twins.**

**Author's Notes: Wow to the response to the prologue…and, nine days later, here's Chapter One. It'll be Stan's POV. **

**-.-**

**June 9, 2009**

**South Park, CO**

**10:20 A.M.**

**-.-**

"Come ooooooooooonnnnnnnn!!!" I whine, leaning into him as he shrugs me off and sullenly turns a page in his magazine. I don't know what's so interesting about _Martha Stewart Living_ that's preventing Kyle from paying me any attention on a beautiful summer Monday, but never the less that's what he's doing.

"Stan, I know what you're going to ask me," he says without looking up, which floors me. "We've been over this something close to a dozen times over the past month. I know we can afford it, and that it's the right time, but I don't think I'm ready for kids yet. I want you to myself for a while longer."

Well, that makes perfect sense, when you think about it. After five years without me, it's quite reasonable that Kyle's not satisfied with only two as a married couple, and a little over three together again. But I've got a kicker that I haven't used yet, and this is the perfect time to drag it out.

"Remember the little group of friends we had when we were little? You and me, Fatass and Kenny?" I ask. A small nod is my response. "Our kid, or kids, can have that too." Kyle now marks his place in the magazine and sets it aside.

"OK, I'm listening. What are you thinking?" I chuckle. Kyle hasn't been keeping up with our friends as well as me. But, to give him some credit, he actually TEACHES a class. He works a lot more than me, so I have time to get together with the guys from time to time.

"Kenny and Butters both just had kids," I say with a half-grin. As surprising as it had been to both of us, Kenny had finally settled down last year with Bebe Stevens. It wasn't too surprising when I found out that he'd gotten her pregnant. Apparently the poor-people genes still flow through him, even if he is doing pretty decently now.

"_BUTTERS_ had a kid?" he asks, non-plussed by the news about Kenny and Bebe. "He's gay; who the hell did he have a kid with?"

"Well, believe it or not, our sweet, innocent and overly naïve friend got plastered at Raisins a year back and, with Lexus' new haircut, somehow managed to hallucinate her as a guy," I say. "Nine months later, boom, here comes little Daniel. Lexus just left him with Butters as soon as she left the hospital. Poor guy says he hasn't slept well since."

"Wow, maybe I should start taking you up on your offers to head down to the bar one of these nights," Kyle says, pulling his legs up on the couch and spinning to face me, hugging them to his chest.

"You're damn right you should," I reply, pulling up one leg and turning to face him better.

"Anything else I should know about?" Kyle asks.

"Clyde and Red had a son a couple weeks ago," I offer with a shrug.

"How badly do you really want kids?" he asks. We're only twenty-six, but…I want to be able to do things with my kids for as long as I can. If we get kids now, we'll only be forty-four when they go off to college. Hell, my knees may even still be intact.

"Almost as much as I love you," I answer, truthfully. It comes close…family should be more than just the adult couple.

Kyle sighs. "If you feel that strongly about it…" he says, and I lean forward with anticipation. "Let me finish my magazine, and we'll go to Denver." He picks it up and turns back to his page. I am flabbergasted, and remain frozen in my position on the couch for several minutes. Kyle chuckles, and I don't think it's because he caught a typo in the magazine.

**-.-**

An hour later, we're on the road. Because of the length of the trip and the gas prices, we take Kyle's new hybrid. He drives, and I fiddle with the satellite radio trying to find the Rockies game.

"How many do we want?" he asks, shocking me out of my reverie. The radio is still spitting static, and Kyle turns it off.

"What?" I ask, confused as to the point of the question.

"How many children, and of what gender, do we want?" Kyle asks again, emphasizing each segment of the conversation.

I'm dumbstruck. I fumble around for an answer while Kyle stares at the road, and I finally manage to answer, lamely, "Well, I know _I_ would prefer a son, but that's just me."

"We'll make a decision when we get there, I guess. But we both want an infant, right?" Kyle asks.

"Oh yeah, definitely," I reply. "Partly grown children would be nothing but trouble, and it would interrupt their dynamic they're gonna have with Kenny's daughter and Butters' son."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Mister," Kyle says with a slight chuckle as we see a sign that reads

**DENVER45 miles**

Banging my head against the window, I resume my search for the baseball game. Hell, I'll take pop music right now, anything to pass the time.

**-.-**

After an excruciating hour (the station we finally settled on DID have a Rockies game, in the top of the seventh inning with Colorado up 13-5 and going to the bullpen. Suffice to say, they lost…20-13. Sometimes I hate Coors' Field,) we finally made it to the adoption agency.

"Alright," I say, as I get out of the car and stretch, "let's do this." We walk in and are greeted by the overly-nice lady at the desk.

"Hi," Kyle says, assuming his nice, smart, good-boy role. "My husband and I are looking to adopt," he says.

"OK, we can do that. Have a seat, sirs, and let's see what we can find for you." As we sat, she had pulled out a clipboard with some forms on top.

"Just fill out your names, address, and phone number," she says kindly, handing Kyle a pen. He manages it in just under a minute, and she spends another three inputting it into the computer before returning her attention to us.

"What type of child are you looking for?"

"Well, we want a baby, less than a year old if you could," Kyle says. This sends her looking for a three-ring binder, one that's actually rather thick, and presents it to us.

"Look through here, sirs, and tell me if you are interested by any of the children," she instructs us, offering the binder to Kyle.

He cracks it open, and I'm drawn to a pair of pictures near the bottom of the page. That looks…just like…Kyle and me as babies.

"Excuse me," I say, "how current are these photos?" Kyle looks up and nods. Apparently, those pictures caught his eye as well.

"Those children were born in January and just left at the hospital by their mother. She said she felt they were destined to be raised by someone else," she replies.

"Could we see them in person, please?" Kyle asks anxiously. She checks something on her computer.

"I think so, just let me make a couple calls," she replies. "I think they're at a home right here in Denver."

She picks up the phone and Kyle turns to me.

"They look JUST LIKE US!" he says excitedly in a whisper.

"You sure you want to try twins?" I whisper back. He nods excitedly.

"Did you hear her? She said that their mother said they were destined to be raised by someone else," he says.

"And?"

"Stan, I just…feel something here. Trust me on this one. They're six months old; they shouldn't wake us up TOO often. Besides, it's summer. We can sleep as long as we want." He's got his winning grin on. How can I not trust that?

"OK," I say, smiling back as the lady at the desk hangs up her phone and we turn back to her.

"It's all set. You can meet them at five this evening," she says, sliding a piece of paper across the desk. "This is the address; these are the directions from here. Now, I know it's an hour from now, but, if you are really interested in those two, would you mind filling out some more of the initial paperwork?"

"Absolutely we wouldn't mind!" Kyle says, perking up. He seems really enthusiastic about all this.

**-.-**

**Half an hour later**

"We ought to get going, Kyle," I say, looking at the directions and checking my watch. It's all the way across the city; we'll be pushing it even if we leave now. Especially with rush-hour traffic.

"I know, I know," Kyle says, finishing another form and handing it over to the lady.

"Will you be available by cell after five?" Kyle asks, "Or will we need to come back in tomorrow if it goes well?"

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow morning, but we do open at nine, Mr. Broflovski," she replies.

"That's alright, Ky," I say with a grin, tugging him out of his chair. "We can get a hotel." I waggle my eyebrows and he flushes.

"Well, I hope to see you tomorrow morning then!" Kyle says as I drag him towards the door.

"You as well, sir. I hope you enjoy yourself!" she replies as I finally succeed. Getting him out the door, he yanks himself out of my grasp and heads for the car, and has it started before I even reach my door.

"Tell me where to go," he says, putting it in gear.

"Absolutely, my love."

**-.-**

We arrive with two minutes to spare, but that's merely thanks to Kyle speeding something close to ten miles over the speed limit through yellow lights and the like. Parking the car, we get out and walk up to the door of a non-descript white wood house with a regular door and a year-old Chevy pickup in the driveway.

I ring the doorbell, and we listen to a little bit of crying that adds to the announcement of our arrival before a woman in her late 30s/early 40s with lightening blonde hair answers the door.

"Mr. Broflovski, Mr. Marsh?" she asks. After getting nods from both of us, she motions us inside. "Right this way, first door on your right."

Kyle leads the way, and upon entering the room and seeing the children in person, he starts squealing and shouting in what sounds like…Japanese? I hear my name in there, but otherwise, I'm clueless.

"He's saying 'Oh my God, they're so cuuuuute. Stan, we have to have them,'" the foster mother says.

"You speak Japanese?" I ask. She nods. "Well if that's not damn convenient…" I reply, watching Kyle gush over the twins.

"OK, we'll take them," I say. "Hopefully, by tomorrow this time."

"Shame. Well, not that you're taking them, obviously…your partner seems to be quite enthused about it, but they've been generally very well behaved, and very close," she says. Kyle starts saying something different this time, and I turn to her for a translation.

"He says 'just think about it, Stan, we're gonna be daddies.'"

"Ah," I say.

"I think it's going to be hard to drag him out of here for a while," she says. "You feel like a cup of coffee?"

"Sure, if it wouldn't be too much of a bother," I reply.

"Nah, not at all," she says. "Kitchen's this way." Turning to follow her, I catch one last glimpse of Kyle playing with the two little boys, particularly the one that bears an uncanny resemblance to him.

**-.-**

That night, after a round of intense sex that only a hotel can cause, Kyle turns to me.

"They're absolutely PERFECT, Stan," he breathes. "I just _know_ they're supposed to be ours. I'm SURE of it."

"Relax, Ky…they will be. Have you called your dad? We're going to need somebody to represent us to a judge before we can get official custody of them."

"I'll do it in the morning before we go finish the paperwork," he says. "I'm tired."

"Well, at least I know I've still got my touch," I say with a chuckle.

"Your touch isn't all you've still got," Kyle says, snuggling up to me.

"Good night, Kyle," I say, reaching over him to turn off the light.

"'Night, Stan," he yawns. Draping a protective arm over him, I allow myself to drift off myself.

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: **Alright! Here's Chapter One!! Hope you enjoyed. Perhaps I'll turn this into a weekly update fic, perhaps not, but…either way.

Phoenix II


	3. Acclamations

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta…**

_**Chapter Two – Acclamations**_

**Disclaimer: Only own the OCs. Basically, the cheeldren.**

**Summary: Getting used to having children, plus insight into namings.**

**Author's Notes: Here's chapter two. Updates ought to come about once a week, I think, no matter how much you bother me otherwise. Maybe once the semester ends and I get a little more of my life to myself…**

**-.-**

**July 16, 2009**

**South Park, CO**

**3:17 AM**

**-.-**

"_Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!"_

The cry echoes throughout the house, and permeates through the wall separating our bedroom from the twins', waking me up for the third time tonight…well, this morning now. As I try and identify the cry, I feel Kyle stir beside me. He's far better at distinguishing between the two's cries. He looks up at me, and I look down at him with an inquisitive expression.

"Ryan," he murmurs, turning over and returning to sleep as I slide out of bed with a muttered "Shit."

This has really been going on for the past three weeks. Being married to a local celebrity has its benefits – we were able to bring the twins home only two weeks after we finished the paperwork. I barely had time to set up a room with twin cribs and little duck wallpaper before we went to pick them up.

As I walk into the room and pick up my son, I go over a quick check to try and determine what he wants. His diaper is fine, he was fed two hours ago…oh, wait. Sighing, I stop cradling him and position him on my shoulder, patting him gently on the back while pacing about the room, thinking about how we had decided to name the twins.

**-.-**

_**Four Weeks Ago**_

_"What should we name them?" Kyle asked as he turned to me. Hitting the "off" button on the remote, I turned to him._

_"Before we decide on names, which one of us gets which?" I reply. Kyle looks at me funny, like it's the most obvious thing in the world._

_"I figured we'd both take our own 'Mini-Me's," he says. "Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to raise yourself?"_

_"No, not really," I admit. Kyle, though, I could see thinking things like that. It's a new level of deep for him, though. But…I guess seeing how he would've turned out without his mom second-guessing his every move and decision would be interesting. "But I do see your point. I bet you've even got a short list for yours, don't you?" A sheepish grin was my response._

_"Alright, then, let's hear them!" I'm pretty excited now, it'll probably be a while before I get to sleep._

_"David, Isaac, Abraham, James, and Jacob," he recites. I mull over it, picturing my lovely Jew with any of those names._

_"I kinda like David and Isaac," I reply a few minutes later. "What the hell made you think of Abraham?"_

_"My mother, who do you think?" Kyle says, rolling his eyes. "She insisted that I put at least one of her ideas on the short list, and, sadly, Abraham was the best of the 50 or so she had."_

_"Do I even want to know what any of the others were?" I ask._

_"One word: Stanislaw." I shudder. I can't say she had a bad taste in names, and Stanislaw was probably the name of an ancestor, but still…_

_"Do you have any ideas?" Kyle asks, jolting me from my reverie. Well, not really, but out of a desire not to look like a buffoon next to my husband and Favorite Jew in the World, I list off the first five boy names that come to mind._

_"Ryan, Jonathon, Paul, Stephen, and Daisuke." D'oh!_

_"Daisuke? Stan?"_

_"What? You took all the good Bible names!" I protest, trying to feebly defend my idiotic slip-up._

_"Suuuuuuuuuuuuure," Kyle says. "I like Ryan and Jonathon."_

_"No Daisuke?" Kyle glares at me._

_"He isn't now, nor never will be, Japanese."_

_"Spoilsport," I say before continuing, "OK, we're both down to two names." Kyle nods. "Any separate lists for middle names?"_

_"Nope. Loser of the first-name game gets it." I chuckle._

_"So the real question here," I say, "is David Isaac and Ryan Jonathon, or Isaac David and Jonathon Ryan?"_

_"Well, if you're going to put it that way…" Kyle says, "Unless we're sending them into politics, I vote for the former."_

_"Bleh. Pretentious bastards…I. David and J. Ryan my ass…the former it is then," I say, feeling quite pleased with myself. "Now all we need to do is get ready to welcome little David Isaac and Ryan Jonathon home."_

_"I can't wait," Kyle says. "But you and I ought to step it up on the sex front. We aren't going to get too many opportunities over the better part of the next eighteen years."_

_"Shit, I never thought about that," I say, dragging him over atop me. "Twice nightly for the next week sound good to you?"_

_"Perfect," he says, kissing me._

**-.-**

A small "burp" pulls me back to the present, as Ryan expels the discomforting gas and snuggles up against my shoulder. Moved by the cuteness, I sit down in the rocking chair I bought and start to sing my boy to sleep.

"_Hush little baby,_

_Don't say a word._

_Daddy's going to buy you_

_A mocking bird…_

"_And if that mockingbird don't sing,_

_Daddy's going to buy you_

_A shiny thing…"_

Eventually I feel the soft breathing that tells me he's asleep, and I replace him in his crib and return to bed, the clocks reading 4:00 A.M.

Almost on cue, as soon as I slide under the covers, a different cry rings out, and now that I'm not as asleep as I was I can tell that it's David.

Tapping Kyle on the shoulder to wake him, I murmur, "Your turn," before nodding off once again.

**-.-**

That night, we drop off the twins at my parent's house. Kyle finally decided to take me up on an offer to meet Kenny and Butters at the bar to catch up and swap horror stories. His parents were out of town, but mine were all too happy to spend time with their new grandchildren. Well, my mom was, at least.

My dad, on the other hand, in typical Randy Marsh fashion, sat on the couch, beer in hand, wailing at me ("Whyyyyyyyyyyyyy, Staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnn, why!!! I'm not old enough to be a Grandpa! You hear me? Staaaaaaan!?!") while my mother shot him a look that made him take his wailing and complaints out of earshot and sight.

"Stan, honey, you mean you've finally managed to get Kyle out of the house for a night?" asks Mom while Kyle brings David's little baby carrier from the backseat. He's been apart from Ryan for all of two and a half minutes, and both of them are crying up a storm. I guess they weren't kidding when they said they were close. Once Kyle is standing next to me on the front step, the twins realize their brother is there and stop crying.

"No more than three feet away from each other or they'll never stop crying," Kyle tells my mom. "We fed them before we came, so they should be fine until we get back, but just in case, there's a couple bottles for each of them and a fresh diaper in the bag," he adds, indicating the bag slung over his shoulder, which he slings off and passes over. "Randy gonna be all right? I could hear him from the car."

"He'll be fine, Kyle dear," my mom says. "He's just being his usual self. Sometimes I worry about that man, but then I remember: he's an idiot. You just hope Stan doesn't get that from him." Kyle chuckles, I grin, remembering fondly all the times that man has embarrassed me. I can easily come up with ten.

"Don't worry, mom, if either of us ends up senseless, it'll be Kyle," I say, raising my eyebrows and deepening my grin into a smirk. He, as always, blushes, knowing EXACTLY what I mean by that. Mom apparently doesn't, but I expect a tongue lashing when we come back because she's figured it out. Probably ask Dad.

"Do you just want us to put them anywhere, or…?" Kyle trails off, asking, before Mom realizes we're still standing outside.

"Oh! Come in, come in…just set them in front of the coffee table for now, dear. When should you be back?" Mom asks as we step past her, each carrying a boy in a baby carrier.

"Well, I have no doubt that Kenny will advocate keeping us at the bar until last call, but we'll probably be back around 10:30 or so," I reply. "We've got a curriculum-building day tomorrow, so we need to get as much sleep as we can, I don't care if we have to sedate the little buggers."

"Stanley Marsh, don't you even THINK of doing such things!" Mom scolds.

"Don't worry, Sharon, he was kidding," Kyle says, glaring at me. "WEREN'T you, Stan?"

"Hehe, yes…just kidding, Mom. Sorry."

"Well, it wasn't funny, Stanley. Now you two go and have fun. Give Kenny and Leopold my regards," she says.

"Will do, Sharon," Kyle says, dragging me towards the door. I have time to meekly wave goodbye before we're back in the car.

"To the bar?" Kyle asks. I nod.

"To the bar."

**-.-**

We walk in the bar to find a half-drunk Kenny trying to fend off the advances of a half-drunk Butters.

"No way, dude, I'm married. Besides, you're drunk," Kenny says, waving a beer bottle like the Flaming Sword of the Archangel Gabriel.

"You're sexy," Butters slurs, stumbling after Kenny as the latter ducks around another barstool.

"Are they always like this?" Kyle whispers to me.

"Pretty much," I say. "I don't know what Butters sees in Kenny, honestly. Yo, Guys!!" I shout, directing the first sentence to Kyle and the last exclamation in the direction of the two lovebirds-in-fantasy (well, in Butters' fantasy. Close enough.). The turn to look at me as the bartender shoots me a relieved look.

"STAAAAAAAN!!" Butters says in his typical drawl, slightly amplified by the whiskey shooters he's been taking. "How're you, fella gaym'n?" He's practically fawning over me, and only stops at a glare from Kyle.

"Oh, so you finally got him to come?" Kenny asks, approaching and peeling Butters off me.

"Yeah. Stan's been telling me you've been having baby blues too, I figured we should all get together and swap horror stories," Kyle said as we approached the bar.

"I'll have a Coors," Kyle says, sitting on a stool and swiveling to face the barman. He nods and looks at me.

"Pint of Guinness lager," I say, sitting as well. Kenny is next to me, and has propped Butters on the fourth stool. Apparently the little blonde leaning on him the rest of the night is worth the sacrifice to talk with us in such a relaxed atmosphere again for Kenny.

"Cosmopolitan, kick the vermouth in the sides with a pair of steel-toed boots," Kenny says, and the barman, with a sigh, turns to Butters.

"Five shots of Jack!" Butters exclaims, puffing himself up.

"Dude, no," Kyle says. "We all know you're not a real man, stop trying to prove you're something you're not. He'll have an appletini, easy on the 'tini,'" he adds for the barman, who gives Kyle a brief round of applause for his intervention.

"Yeah, dude, besides, you keep this up you're gonna end up like your dad," I chime in. If there's one thing Butters has never liked, it's comparisons with his dad. He goes out of his way to distance himself from that man, and anytime he's compared to him he stiffens up and goes tight-lipped for a while. Meh, he'll open up soon enough.

"So, how've your first few weeks of fatherhood gone?" Kenny asks as our drinks are set in front of us.

"Strange," Kyle says, taking a swig of his beer. "They wake up every other hour, never at the same time, and never wake their twin up."

"That is weird," Kenny says. "How loud are they crying?"

"Pretty damn," I say, taking a drought of Guinness. "You'd think they'd both wake up, but no. They must be really in tune with each other. It'll be really creepy if they start talking and finish each other's sentences."

"Damn straight," Kenny agrees, toasting me with his Cosmo. "Oh! I haven't told you yet! Katie crawled today, dudes!"

"Really?" Kyle asks. Kenny nods. "That's awesome, dude! Congrats! What'd Bebe think?"

"Whipped out her cell and got it on video. I imported it into the computer, played around on iMovie a little to improve the resolution, and I can watch it anytime!" Kenny says. He's very proud of himself, and rightfully so.

"How old's she now, Ken? Seven months? Eight?" I ask.

"Eight months next Thursday," Kenny says.

"That's great, Ken! Hey Kyle, you think our boys'll be on the ground that quickly?"

"Let's hope so! At least before school starts again and we miss it while they're at day care!" Kyle says. "'Ey, Butters!" the other blonde looks up, startled. "Your son started crawling yet?"

"Gosh, no, Kyle!" Butters says. "Lil' Daniel's only five months old, younger than you fellas' boys. He's still wakin' me up every couple hours wantin' this an' that. David an' Ryan still doin' that?" he asks. We nod. "Aw, hamburgers. Stan, you'll lemme know when they stop, so I can start hopin', right?"

"Sure thing, Butters," I say with a chuckle. "Kenny, Katie stopped that yet?"

"Yeah, few weeks ago," Kenny says. "They ought to be slacking off on that soon, but maybe it's the new home that's disrupting them."

"Probably," Kyle concedes. "But I really couldn't tell you, I was philosophy, not psychology."

"As you tell us whenever we ask, Kyle," Kenny jokes, and we all get a laugh out of it. It's not his fault, waaaaaaaay too many people write Kyle letters asking him to tell them what's wrong with them. I think he's got a form letter to answer those on the computer, actually.

**-.-**

At about ten, Kyle pokes me away from an interesting conversation with Butters to let me know that we should be going to pick up the twins now. I inform Kenny and Butters of this, to their displeasure.

"Aww, do ya have ta go?" Butters ask as we leave money for our tab on the bar.

"Sorry dude, we've got to be at school tomorrow for curriculum sessions. Blergh," I say. "Besides, practice starts in a few weeks, I've got to start making plans for what I can and cannot do with my team this year."

"Oh!" interjects Kenny, "that reminds me! My restaurant, day before school year starts. We're going to have us a little end-of-summer party. I've invited pretty much everybody in our class who stuck around here, so it'll be like an informal reunion."

"Sounds good, Ken, we'll be there," Kyle says. "But we've really gotta be going. You two don't kill each other, 'kay?"

"We'll sure try, Kyle!" Butters says with a smile. That guy can be WAY to happy at times. I think he's got a patch of acid under his tongue that he can surreptitiously change without arousing suspicion.

**-.-**

**The next day**

**-.-**

Kyle enters my office without a knock around noon. I've been staring at my computer screen, and occasionally swearing at it, trying to get it to properly draw out receiver routes. I've been begging the school board, the booster club, and Kyle for a tablet computer ever since the middle of last season, but so far no dice.

"I just got something interesting in the mail," he states. Rubbing my eyes, I turn to face him to find him holding a manila envelope stamped with the return address of the University of Southern California. I can't read the specific department, because the ink is red, but Kyle's talking again, so…

"They want me to come out to L.A. to give a guest lecture on my book mid-November," he says. "$5,000 plus airfare, hotel, and car."

"Seriously? They want you to give a lecture? Like, to an upper-division Philosophy class or…open forum?"

"I think it's gonna be an open forum, part of a visiting lecturer series thing," Kyle says. "Think I should go?"

"Absolutely you should go! I mean, the checks we get each month from the publishing company shows that people are still reading it, but…this is a chance for you to get out there and influence the minds of the next great American leaders," I say with a grin.

"How badly are you trying to get me to let you ravage me on your desk?" he quips.

"Pretty much shamelessly," I admit.

"Thought so. Be serious now…do you think you can be left with two ten-month olds for a day in the middle of playoff season and still have energy to sex me up over the phone?" Kyle asks.

"Now who's asking to be ravaged?" I quip. "Seriously, I can handle it, Kyle. If Kenny's telling the truth, they won't be waking us up in the middle of the night anymore, they'll be crawling around…hell, they might even be talking."

"Well…if you're sure," Kyle says. I nod, and put on a faux-hurt face. "Would I lie to you?"

"No…you know the consequences," Kyle says with a grin. "I'll send off my reply today then." And then he leaves, after getting me all worked up like that.

I kick my desk, then go try to work on drawing up some plays on the computer to find it frozen.

"Goddamnit!!"

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: **Alright, you now have Ch. 2! Hehe…poor frustrated Stan. See you guys around the site!

Phoenix II


	4. Disagreements

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta **

**_Chapter Three – Disagreements _**

****

**Disclaimer: South Park is not mine. **

**Summary: What religion will the twins be raised in? **

**Author's Notes: Hmm…Turns out there's more that needs to be put in this chapter than I thought. Not a bad thing, but…Thank God for the Internets. **

**-.- **

**July 24, 2009 **

**South Park****, CO**

**11:36 A.M. **

**-.- **

"Jewish!"

"Christian!"

"Stan!!"

"Kyle!!"

"Muslim?"

"Hell no!"

"Jewish!"

"Christian!"

"NO!!" we both shout, glaring at each other and reaching for our cell phones. Speed dial 2, _ring…ring…ring… _

_ "Hello?" _

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!" we both say, at the same time, into separate phones, to separate mothers.

"Stan/Kyle's being a dick!"

Exasperated sighs come into our ears, followed by _"I'll be right over, Stanley/Kyle." _

Hanging up, I take a seat on the left end of the couch.

"Why can't they both be _my _religion?" I ask. "C'mon, we both know mine's more awesome!"

"Because!" he replies. "Your religion doesn't speak English!"

"Like you're one to talk! Your head official speaks Latin and German and shit when he's saying anything important!"

"But at least our services don't require us to learn another language!"

"Don't give me that! I remember you dragged me along to a Christmas Mass to show me 'what I was missing.' The whole thing was in Latin!"

"Only the singing!"

"It was ALL singing! Maxi was too drunk to give a sermon!"

"…oh yeah…"

"So, Stan, tell me why our boys can't both be Jews?"

I hear something muttered into a pillow.

"What was that?"

"Because Ike's _bris_ made me faint." He blushes. I chuckle.

"Hey, come on," I say. "Everyone loves a Kosher boy…and All the Ladies will be all over them."

"Not good enough, Ky," he says. "I'd be completely lost if I had to watch them prepping for Bar Mitzvahs and learning all this stuff in another language…not to mention the money part of it."

"You do know we pretty much just make up all the shit we say at those, right?" I ask. "It's the 'String as many consonants and syllables as you possibly can together game!'" He busts out laughing as the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it," he says, standing up and opening the door for our Moms, who take seats in the two chairs on either side of the TV and turn to face us.

"So, boys, what's the problem THIS time?" Mom asks.

"We can't decide which of our religions to raise the twins as. I mean, I want them both Jewish, Stan wants them both Christian, I suggested Islam as a neutral compromise-ow!" I say, interrupted as my mother gets up and smacks me.

"You will NOT raise my grandchildren as Muslims!"

"Jesus, alright, fine!" Sharon's shaking her head.

"What is it, Mom?" Stan asks. Looking closer, she's…laughing.

"What's so funny, Sharon?" I ask. She looks up and smiles.

"You two, arguing over this like it's the end of the world and not even seeing the obvious solution."

"What's the obvious solution?" I ask, perplexed.

"Kyle, you raise David as a Jew, and Stan, you raise Ryan to be a Christian," Sharon says. I feel like smacking myself.

"Y'know…" I say, pretending to mull it over, "That is a pretty good idea…"

"Of course it is, Kyle, don't be silly!"

"Alright…" Stan begrudgingly concedes.

"Kyle," says my Mom, and I swing my head over to pay attention to her. "Do you need help planning the _bris_ for little David?"

"Actually, Mom, I do," I say.

"And Stanley," Sharon says, "would you like me to help you plan Ryan's baptism?"

"Sure, mom," he says.

**-.- **

**August 1, 2009 **

**South Park****, CO**

**12:30 P.M. **

**-.- **

Dr. Schwartz arrived just a few minutes ago. We're ready to begin the _bris_ ceremony for David. Everyone else has been here since Temple ended at 11. Stan's a little miffed about the role he's playing in the ceremony, but I assured him that he would be able to pay me back the next day.

We've decided Kenny will be the twins' godfather, and as such he will be the _kvatter_ in the ceremony, even though he IS married…

Kenny takes David from Stan and brings him to me. As he enters the room, all present recite "Blessed is the one arriving!

"Blessed is the one arriving! Happy is the man You choose and bring near to dwell in Your courtyards; we will be satiated with the goodness of Your House, Your Holy Temple. The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Pinchas, the son of Elazar, the son of Aaron the Kohen, has turned My wrath away from the children of Israel when he displayed anger among them in My behalf, so that I did not wipe out the children of Israel in My anger. Therefore say: I grant him My covenant of peace."

Kenny passes David to me, and I place him on the _Kisay Shel Eliyahu_, which Dr. Schwartz brought with him. Dr. Schwartz then says "This is the Seat of Elijah the Prophet, may he be remembered for good. For Your deliverance I hope, O Lord. I have hoped for Your deliverance, Lord, and I have performed Your commandments. Elijah, angel of the Covenant, here is yours before you; stand at my right and support me. I rejoice in Your word, like one who finds great spoil. Those who love Your Torah have abounding peace, and there is no stumbling for them. Happy is the man You choose and bring near to dwell in Your courtyards; we will be satiated with the goodness of Your House, Your Holy Temple."

Mom then picks David up and passes him back to me, while Dad comes over dressed to be the _sandek_, and sits in the chair. Once he has been seated, I lay David upon his lap, and Dr. Schwartz moves in once more, saying "Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us concerning circumcision."

Then comes the circumcision. I note that Stan looks away, but it's really not as bad as it was when we were both eight. I don't know why. I do know, however, that I've got another line. "Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to enter him into the Covenant of Abraham our father."

Everyone, including Stan (I "coached" him), replies "Just as he has entered into the Covenant, so may he enter into Torah, into marriage, and into good deeds."

As Dr. Schwartz finishes, Mom takes David up and allows Dad to stand. She then passes David back to him and allows Kenny to raise a glass of wine. Reading from a note card (I couldn't coach him…), he says "Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who creates the fruit of the vine. Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who sanctified the beloved one from the womb, set His statute in his flesh, and sealed his descendants with the sign of the holy Covenant. Therefore, as a reward of this (circumcision), the living God, our Portion, our Rock, has ordained that the beloved of our flesh be saved from the abyss, for the sake of the Covenant which He has set in our flesh. Blessed are You Lord, who makes the Covenant."

Then Stan, who gets to be an Honorary Jew for today, steps into the room briefly to say "Our God and God of our fathers, preserve this child for his father and mother, and his name in Israel shall be called David the son of Kyle. May the father rejoice in his offspring, and his mother be glad with the fruit of her womb, as it is written: 'May your father and mother rejoice, and she who bore you be glad.' And it is said: 'I passed by you and saw you weltering in your blood, and I said to you: You shall live through your blood; and I said to you: "You shall live through your blood."' And it is said: 'He has remembered His Covenant forever, the word which He has commanded to a thousand generations; the Covenant which He made with Abraham, and His oath to Isaac; He established it for Jacob as a statute, for Israel as an everlasting Covenant.' And it is said: 'Abraham circumcised his son Isaac when he was eight days old, as God had commanded him.' Give thanks to the Lord for He is good, for His kindness is everlasting. Give thanks to the Lord for He is good, for His kindness is everlasting. May this little infant David become great. Just as he has entered the Covenant, so may he enter into Torah, into marriage, and into good deeds." He looks exhausted when he finishes, but who can really blame him? Poor guy…

That said, Kenny then drinks the wine with a chuckle. Once he finishes, Dr. Schwartz and I say, in unison, "Sovereign of the universe, may it be Your will that this circumcision be regarded and accepted by You as if l had offered him before the Throne of Your Glory. And You, in Your abounding mercy, send through Your holy angels a holy and pure soul to David the son of Kyle, who has now been circumcised for the sake of Your great Name. May his heart be open as the portal of the Great Hall in the Temple in Your holy Torah, to learn and to teach, to observe and to practice; grant him long life, a life imbued with the fear of sin, a life of wealth and honor; and fulfill the desires of his heart for good. Amen, and so may it be Your will."

Following that, Dr. Schwartz goes on to recite "May He who blessed our fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Moses and Aaron, David and Solomon, bless this tender infant, David the son of Kyle, because David the son of Kyle pledged charity for his sake for _bikkur cholim_. In this merit, may the Holy One, blessed be He, hasten to send a complete recovery to all his two hundred forty-eight bodily parts and three hundred sixty-five veins, and raise him to Torah, to marriage, and to good deeds; and let us say, Amen."

Attention is then turned to the old man standing near the edge of the room, who recites the Priestly Blessing. "And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: 'Speak to Aaron and to his sons, saying, Thus shall you bless the children of Israel, say to them: "The Lord bless you and guard you. The Lord make His countenance shine upon you and be gracious to you. The Lord turn His countenance toward you and grant you peace." And they shall set My name upon the children of Israel, and I shall bless them.'"

When he is finished, Kenny steps forward and takes David from Dad, and takes him back to Stan. The _bris_ is finished. Now for the meal…

**-.- **

**August 2, 2009 **

**South Park****, CO**

**10:45 A.M. **

**-.- **

I'm standing, with Ryan in my arms, in the South Park Catholic Church. David is sleeping in his carrier over by the pew, and I'm sure more that a few people are wondering why only Ryan is being baptized.

Priest Maxi stands before us, and has been talking for probably fifteen minutes about the history of Baptism in Christianity. I've said perhaps two words, choosing instead to let Stan do all the talking. He knows this stuff better than I.

Eventually, Maxi finally sprinkles the water on Ryan's forehead and proclaims, "I baptize thee, Ryan Jonathon Marsh, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost."

He asks if Stan will promise to raise this child in the Church, to which he responds "I will."

The same is asked of me, and, confused Jew that I am, reply "umm…I will?" This earns a chuckle from most of the parishioners, but I doubt I'll be in here for a LONG time, if I'm ever in here again at all.

When Maxi asks THEM if THEY will promise to raise this child in the Church, the response nearly blows me backwards "I WILL!!" Eep!

After that, we're allowed to return to our pew, and the rest of the service goes without incident.

In the car, on the way back home, I kindly ask Stan, "Could you possibly do me a favor and never ask me to attend another Catholic ceremony for the rest of my life?"

"Sorry, Kyle…but you should come with once a year or so. I'll sit with you through Temple if it'll make you feel better about it."

"Well, if you're willing to make THAT sacrifice…how can I say no? Just pick a Sunday when most of the liturgy will be in English, please?"

He chuckles. "Sure thing, Kyle."

**-.- **

**Author's Notes: Note that the Jewish ceremony is far more detailed than the Catholic one. The reasons for this are thus: 1) I found an entire Bris ceremony on the Internets, 2) The stupid Catholics DIDN'T have a baptismal ceremony on the Internets, and 3) I'M not a Catholic. So if the Catholic one isn't done right, don't bitch!! **

**Anyway, that's Chapter Three. Expect Chapter Four next weekend. **

**Heh…oh, and…thank Zakuyoe for helping put this up XD **

**Phoenix**** II **


	5. Work and Play

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta…**

_**Chapter Four – Work and Play**_

**Disclaimer: SP is not mine.**

**Summary: Kyle goes to USC, Stan has friends over.**

**Author's Notes: Wow. Two. Reviews. For ch. 3. Seriously, people, c'maaaaahn… Oh…and next week will see limited Internets for me due to some serious business. Week from Hell, yo.**

**  
-.-**

**November 20, 2009**

**Los Angeles, CA**

**06:00 P.M. Pacific Standard Time**

_**Kyle's POV**_

"_Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the Philosophy Department at the University of Southern California, it is my honor to welcome … Mr. Kyle Broflovski._"

There's some light applause as I step to the podium in the small auditorium. My nerves are running ragged…probably because I've never done anything like this. The three whiskeys I had on the plane probably didn't help matters much, though…

"Thank you," I say. "If this doesn't go much like any lecture you've ever been to before, I've got a couple of pretty good reasons: I teach High School, and I never really was fond of lectures in college either."

There's some scattered laughter, and I grin. "Don't get me wrong, I do have _SOME_ words prepared, but this is probably going to turn into a sort of Q-and-A session, so just hold tight and try not to tune me out like your 8 A.M. History class." More laughter, and I sense them settling in.

"My book wasn't always as cheerful as it is. In fact, about three and a half years ago, that book was something my own mother wouldn't have bought.

"The changes that it went through are directly related to the changes that I went through. Right now, I'm relatively healthy and clean. Looking at me, you'd probably never suspect that I had ever been a drug addict.

"When I wrote the first draft, I spent all my waking hours either on or longing for Vicodin. I was first prescribed it for back pain, but when it started to repress my emotional pain, I couldn't get enough. The pills deadened my senses, and gave me an overwhelming sense of despair and revulsion every time I took one. My disgust with myself lead me to create some pretty horrific art, and some pretty disturbing poetry.

"The places where the text takes an upswing is most likely a result of the revisions I began after the end of the addiction. The story of that is around Chapter Ten, but suffice to say, I was rescued. Like a Disney movie on crack, my true love came back into my life and saved me from myself," I say, slipping off my jacket and holding up my arms, palms facing the audience, so they could see the long scars from my suicide attempt.

"He was almost too late. He broke down my door to get to me, and luckily, he managed. He rescued me, literally. If he hadn't, I'd be dead, he'd be in a loveless marriage to a superbitch dominatrix, and our adopted twin boys would probably still be in state care in Denver.

"I have to say, fatherhood is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I think it was the waking-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night part that I've been the least fond of. Thankfully that's gone down to about once or twice a month, for both of them. I didn't think I was ready for kids, but when I saw them…I went all 'fangirly,' as Stan put it. Now the only thing I have to do is work to make sure I don't turn into the parent that ran MY life – my own superbitch dominatrix of a mom. I think they would kill me…" I trail off, inciting a few chuckles from the audience. After some examination, I pull the mic free from the stand and walk down to the front of the small stage and sit, dangling my legs off the side.

"Any questions?" Plenty of hands shoot up. Oh, _THIS_ is going to be _**FUN**_ …

"Yeah, go ahead."

**-.-**

**November 20, 2009**

**South Park, CO**

**7:30 P.M. Mountain Standard Time**

_**Stan's POV**_

The doorbell rings, and I set down the TV remote to go answer it. The twins are getting better with not screaming every time it rings, but now that they're crawling it's sort of a race to the door. This time's no different, and I have a boy in each arm as I open the door.

Kenny and Butters are there with both of their kids, and I smile as I usher them in.

"Glad you could make it, guys," I say, shutting the door and setting the twins back down on the floor. "Hey, Ken…where's Bebe?"

"Girl's Night, Stanny-boy," he replies. "Besides, even _with_ two gay guys, there'd _still_ be too much testosterone in here for her." Somewhere in that last statement is the old, irresponsible, teenaged Kenny…

Leave it to Butters to ruin the moment. "H-hey, Kenny, don't talk like that…_I'd_ tap that." Nose-pinch with one hand, half-heartedly restrain Kenny with the other.

"Dude…no. Butters, there are some things you don't _SAY_ to an Irishman. That's one of them," I tell him. "Is there anything else you'd like to say about Kenny or Bebe before we start this party?"

"Hamburgers…I'm sorry, Kenny…" says Butters, and Kenny drops the subject, hitting me on the arm.

"Did you say party?"

"No keg, Ken."

"You _BASTARD_!!" he faux-screams.

"I got three pizzas and a six-pack. Too bad there's nothing really interesting on TV…"

"We could watch porn," Kenny offers, reaching inside his jacket. It would not surprise me in the slightest if he had all kinds of porn in there.

"Any chance you have the Collector's Edition of _Backdoor Sluts IX_?" Butters asks. He's always had obsession with that movie… Kenny's only reply is a waggle of his eyebrows. Time to nip this in the bud…

"No porn!" I shout. "Goddamnit, Kenny, you don't watch porn with infants in the room!"

"MY dad did," he says with a shrug. That explains a lot, actually…

"Your dad was also a lazy drunk asshole. What's your point?"

"Nature versus Nurture," Kenny replies with a twinkle in his eye and a devious smirk on his face. "I was raised in, and am a firm believer of, the Goldmember School on Porn."

"The what?"

"From the third _Austin Powers_ movie. 'Who doesn't like porn? In moderation anything is good.' Check your deleted scenes, Stan!" Kenny replies, aghast. Then Butters interjects himself again.

"N-now Kenny: 'There are two things I can't stand in life: people who are intolerant of other people's cultures…and the Dutch.'" Now THAT one I recognize.

"Dutch-hater!"

"Guys, guys, guys…let's just have a pizza and some beer, sit down, and find something to watch. I _DO_ have _Goldmember_, if you want to go into a full nostalgia-fest," I suggest, interrupting their quote war.

"Sounds cool," Kenny says with a shrug. "As long as we keep our keys away from the kids, we're good." So apparently Kyle and I _HAVEN'T_ been the only ones with that problem lately…

"A-alright, Stan," Butters concedes, as Kenny and I frog-march him into the living room carrying the pizzas and beers.

**-.-**

**USC**

**08:30 P.M. PST**

_**Kyle's POV**_

"So, to answer your question frankly, Dr. Dobson needs to pull his head out of his ass and begin to live in the real world," I respond in the latest of a series of back-and-forths with an exceptionally passionate student over gay rights. I must admit, I _really_ wasn't expecting this in California.

Apparently, he's satisfied, and no more questions are forthcoming. Standing up, I return the mic to its resting place and turn things back over to my introducer.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's hear it for Mr. Kyle Broflovski! He'll be out in the lobby to sign any books and to talk in about five minutes. Thank you for coming, and have a nice evening," he says, passing me my jacket back and shaking my hand.

"Masterfully handled, sir," he says.

"Thanks," I reply, putting my jacket back on. "That was actually more fun that I was anticipating."

"Well, we're honored that you made USC your first choice, and I'm sure that our English department wouldn't mind having you back to talk about your poetry, or our Art department for that. You're really about as close as we have to a Renaissance Man nowadays," he says.

"You flatter me," I say, as we head down to the floor and up the aisle towards the door. "I wouldn't mind coming back, certainly, but what makes you think the invitation would be forthcoming from either of them?"

"Both of your poetry books sell like hotcakes in the campus bookstore," he says. "When I first mentioned to one of my classes that you would be here, the general consensus was that it would be to talk about that."

"You had to remind them about the book?"

"Sort of. It's been our main focus lately in 375, discussing the reasoning behind your meanings and your points, and the rationale behind them."

"Well hell, if I'd have known that I would have come earlier and stopped by!" I exclaim as we reach the double doors.

"Perhaps next time, eh?" he asks, pushing it open. "To your left, Mr. Broflovski."

**-.-**

**South Park**

**11:30 P.M. GMT**

_**Stan's POV**_

Kenny and Butters have been gone for the better part of an hour and a half. Ryan and David have been asleep for the better part of two hours. SportsCenter has been talking about NFL Playoff scenarios since 10:30. I've been lying in bed worrying for the past half hour. Why hasn't Kyle called?

He said the lecture was going to start at 7 our time. It's been four-and-a-half HOURS! Is he reading the goddamned book to them? Jesus…if I had attended THAT long a lecture in college, I might have shot myself. I'm not kidding. Either shot myself or flung myself off the Union. He CAN'T have been there the whole time…what in God's name is taking him so long?

Finally, my musings are interrupted by the ringing of the phone we moved up to the bedroom, so as to decrease the likelihood of the ringing waking up one of the twins. Since no telemarketer would reasonably be calling this late, I pick up the phone and answer "Stan."

"It's me!" says Kyle on the other end.

"The hell have you BEEN!?!" I exclaim. "Kyle, it's been _FOUR AND A HALF __**HOURS**_"

"I know," he says, a bit miffed. "They were…a bit more enthusiastic about it that I thought they would be. They almost had to move it to somewhere bigger because so many kids showed up! I'm like a rock star here!"

"Don't let it get to your head," I say. "I miss you back here…so, was the whole time you talking, or…?"

"Actually, I only spent probably five minutes giving a little speech…then I took questions for the better part of two and a half hours, and then the last two I spent signing books and talking privately to a few students about the book, the poetry, the art…I swear to God a couple of these kids have shrines to me, Stan!"

"Jesus! When did you become little Mr. Popular?"

"Jealous much?" I can detect the sultriness in the voice even over the crappy connection…he must be on his cell. "I'm going to have to air-mail a few things back…those ones that worship me apparently did 'Broflovski-esque' artworks and gave them to me tonight. Three 18x20 canvases and a CD that apparently has a slideshow of digital art…son of a BITCH."

"Are you at your hotel yet?" I ask, shunting aside all worries about where the hell we're going to put these new things. We may need a bigger house soon…

"Cab dropped me off right as I finished dialing you," he says with a smile, and I hear a small _ding_ in the background. "Getting off the elevator, and walking down to my room…" There's a pause as I hear a plastic card being inserted into a reader and withdrawn, and a click as Kyle pushes open the door.

"OK, now I'm safe!" he says. "How about you?"

"Twins have been asleep for two hours, and Kenny and Butters left at ten."

"You had Kenny and Butters over?"

"Yeah. Sort of an informal playdate, meet and greet for the twins and all."

"Riveting. So…Whatcha wanna do?"

"I was thinking that we could do the same thing we did when I was at State Championships two weeks ago."

"Mmmm…I like how you think."

"Damn right you do, Kosherboi."

**-.-**

**Author's Notes pt. Deux: **OK…there's Chapter 4! Dedicated to Zakuyoe, because it is his Birthday today. It's another Day today as well, and even though it doesn't apply to me…Happy 4/20, Hippies!!!

Phoenix II


	6. Feliz Cumpleaños

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta…**

_Chapter Five – Feliz Cumpleaños_

**Disclaimer: Continues to not be mine, with certain exceptions**

**Summary: The twins turn one year old. Stan's POV**

**-.-**

**January 9, 2010**

**South Park, CO**

**6:00 P.M.**

**-.-**

…that's it. Two and a half hours since school let out for the weekend, two hours since I arrived at the Park County Rec Center and started setting up. Kyle was here for all of I think a half an hour, pretty much the time he needed to tell me what went where before going home to get the twins ready.

This, may I note, is the last time I let him take advantage of me in a setting that doesn't involve the both of us naked and in bed. I've been dragging around and setting up four or five of those REALLY long (and, coincidentally HEAVY) tables and what seems like the better part of five hundred folding chairs setting them up according to Kyle's meticulous plans. Then there was the present table, which was ANOTHER one of the big fuckers, and I had to hang the banner all by myself, set up the balloons, and a small play area for the other children.

Perhaps next time we won't invite the WHOLE GODDAMN TOWN!

I hear a car door slam and a minute or so later Kyle returns with the twins holding on to both of his hands. As soon as he sees me, Ryan lets go and runs in his cute child-like fashion over to me, and I drop down to pick him up, which elicits a delighted squeal from my boy. It must be the rush from the sudden change in altitude…

"So, you got done?" Kyle asks. With the arm that's not supporting Ryan, I gesture about the large room.

"Good!" Kyle says. "And it's PERFECT, Stan! Thank you!!!" He gives me a quick kiss as the door opens to reveal the first of our guests. I make a note to tell Kyle he owes me…

**-.-**

**6:15 P.M.**

**-.-**

"Kenny! Bebe! So glad you could make it!" I say, gripping my old friend's hand from my new position near the door. My hand is really starting to get sore…I think I'll be trading with Kyle for the gift table soon.

"Is that Ryan?" Bebe asks. She's never really seen the twins before, at least not up-close. I nod, and she lets out a God-awful squee-ing noise.

"OMIGAWD, Stan, he looks JUST LIKE Yooooooooooooooooooooou!" she exclaims, practically groping the both of us. I shoot Kenny a "Help Me!" look and he drags his still-squealing wife over towards the punchbowl.

Meanwhile, I turn my attention to the next guests in the welcome queue. And…well. I figured they'd be here sooner.

"Stanley, honey, we're so sorry we're late, but you know your father…" my mom says, giving me a hug and shooting a glare at Dad, who looks rather uncomfortable. He's never really been on good terms with the PCRC after that incident with all the hoboes…

"Dad…we've got beer, don't worry. Just don't get plastered and embarrass me," I say.

"Are there Pop Tarts?!" he asks with an edge of panic in his voice.

"What?"

"Are. There. Pop-Tarts, Stanley!?!" If it wasn't for Ryan, I have the strangest feeling that he would be grabbing my collar and slamming me up into a wall.

"N-n-no, Dad…no Pop-Tarts. Just cake. And Punch. And Beer…and Kyle insisted on mixed nuts, but there aren't any Pop Tarts." And I'm pretty sure I don't want to know what Pop Tarts has to do with any of this, but the news that there weren't any there certainly calmed him down.

"Oh, good."

Oy vey…yep. Definitely trading with Kyle now…especially since I can see a beehive of red hair a few people down the line…

**-.-**

**7:00 P.M.**

**-.-**

Y'know, there's a hella-lot of presents here. A couple of them are actually too big for the table, and Kyle had presents stacked atop of them. I wonder what huge presents people would get for a couple of one-year-olds.

Mr. Tweek and his wife head my way with a wrapped basket that likely contains a few different flavors of coffee. I accept it with a smile and a "Thank you" and find a place to put it.

We've got about half the town here by now. I just hope Kyle ordered enough cake.

I look over to where Ryan and David are being held by their respective grandparents. Kyle and I relinquished them about fifteen minutes ago because we needed our hands. As I turn my head back over to the entrance, Kenny jogs over to me.

"Oh, hey Ken," I say, looking at him funny when he hands me a present.

"I forgot to give this to Kyle when I had to stop the wife from manhandling you and Ryan," he says with a grin.

"It's not paintbrush dildos this time, is it?" I ask warily. You never can tell with Kenny.

"I swear on the Cross it's not paintbrush dildos, Stan," he replies. Well, if he's going to make me that certain, I guess I'll believe him. But if it's anything inappropriate, I may strangle him afterwards.

He flashes me his winning Kenny-grin and returns to his wife, who's started chatting up somebody she knows from work…I think…

I think we're about half an hour from cake time.

**-.-**

**7:30 P.M.**

**-.-**

The final tally is something around 350 presents. I'm fairly amazed…this is going to take two car trips to bring home. Good thing I cleaned out the basement recently…

Kyle's retrieved David and gone to the head of the only other horizontally positioned table, which is now laden with a 5 foot long by 2 foot wide cake with white frosting and baby-blue trim with the words "Happy First Birthday, Ryan and David" written in yellow across the face. The lettering on that thing could probably be seen from low-Earth orbit. Jesus Christ.

"I'd like to thank you all again for coming…and from what I've seen from some of you, glad Randy took care of most of the beer. Kenny, you didn't spike the punch, did you?" Kyle asks, getting laughs and overwhelmed vehement denials from Kenny. Which, of course, means he DID…little bastard.

"Anyway, it's time for the main event of the night…the singing and cake eating part. Randy, was that why you put all that beer away?" More laughing as Kyle lights the two small candles in the center of the cake. Picking up Ryan from my mom, I go up and join him as everyone starts to sing:

_Happy Birthday to you!_

_Happy Birthday to you!_

_Happy Birthday, Ryan and David…_

_Happy Birthday to you!!!_

As the song finishes, Kyle and I help Ryan and David blow out the candles, and place them in their high-chairs with the first pieces of cake. Typically, as small children do, they're more concerned with smashing their fists and faces in it than with eating it, but as Kyle and I cut pieces and distribute them to our fellow townsfolk, I DO glimpse a few morsels passing into their mouths.

**-.-**

**8:15 P.M.**

**-.-**

The last of the guests leave, and Kyle wipes the last of the frosting from the twins' faces.

"Alright, Ky…time to put all this shit up," I say. He turns to me with a pleading expression.

"Nuh-uh," I say, cutting him off. "You're helping. My arms are still sore from setting it all up, and we still have to get all the presents home, which will take at LEAST two car trips. Pouting in defeat, he turns and starts to help me fold up chairs.

"And you still owe me from this afternoon!" I point out.

"Fine…we can have the sex when we get everything unwrapped and home," he says, stacking six chairs on the rack.

"Good, you know JUST what I need to relax!" I say with a grin and nuzzle him as I pass by on my own way to stack up some chairs. I hear Kyle mutter something about me being "incorrigible," but I shrug it off and continue working.

**-.-**

**9:00 P.M.**

**-.-**

It's always easier to take things down than it is to set them up. The two hours of work I needed to set all this up took only 45 minutes to take down. Of course, I had help this time…

We're over by the gift table tearing into all the presents. I was right about the basket from the Tweeks…coffee. Oh well…Kyle and I can use it, at any rate. I've assumed the duty of opening Kenny's gift. It's box-shaped, and I tear off the wrapping to reveal…

A box set of porn DVDs. Goddamnit, Kenny!

"Kyle!" I say, catching his attention and showing him the box. He sighs.

"Kenny?"

"Kenny," I confirm with a nod.

"Remind me to spill a cup of hot coffee in his lap on Monday," he says, returning to working on a box given by Mr. and Mrs. Harris.

A highlight of some of the other gifts: My mom and dad gave Ryan a new teddy bear, as did Kyle's mom and dad, for David. A huge amount of the presents are clothes or stuffed animals, as a matter of fact. The two big presents are bicycles, from the Blacks. I suppose Kyle and I can use them and get a couple of those little things that you can put a kid in and pull them behind the bike…that might be fun. As it turns out, we won't really need to make two trips. We can just fold the rear seat down in the SUV, stack the two bikes on top of each other, and fill the rest of the space with the jumpers and onesies and teddy bears.

As we get the last of the wrapping paper stuffed in garbage bags and thrown in a dumpster, I glance at my watch and see **9:45** glaring at me in big glowing green numbers.

"Well," I say to Kyle after we fetch the now-asleep twins from their high-chairs and carry them out to the SUV, "shall we go make-a the sexy time?"

"Sure, why not?" Kyle asks flippantly as I start the car and put it into gear. It's quite understandable that I'm now in something of a hurry to head home…but all told, it's been a great day, not just for me and Kyle, but I know the boys enjoyed it too. Who knows? We just may invite the whole town again next year…

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: Jesus Damn was that hard to write. I REALLY didn't have much of any idea where the hell to go and what the hell to do with this chapter. So, this is the result.**

**Anyway, next week the twins start pre-school, so stay tuned!!**

**Phoenix II**


	7. Self Defense

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta…**

_Chapter Six – Self-defense_

**Disclaimer: Still not mahn…**

**Summary: The twins start pre-school. Obvious time-jump 3 years forward, so the twins are four now. Starts out Stan's POV.**

**-.-**

**August 25, 2012**

**South Park, CO**

**7:00 A.M.**

**-.-**

"Kyle!!" I yell, fighting my way into my pants.

"Yes?" He's downstairs, probably trying to corral the twins into eating breakfast.

"I know we were planning on taking them together, but today's one of my early practice days…" I trail off, still shouting as I head down the stairs myself.

"No, YOU were planning for us to take them together, _I_ remembered your practice schedule," Kyle says with a wry grin as I enter the kitchen and grab a piece of toast. My reply to Kyle is interrupted by twin cries of "DADDY!" Apparently my entrance can get them to stop throwing Froot Loops at each other, judging from the mess.

"Morning, boys," I say, ruffling their hair, and looking back to Kyle.

"You'll be able to manage it?"

"YES, Stan. Now go on, I'll see you at work."

"Bye everybody!" I say, waving to the twins and giving Kyle a quick kiss on my way out the door, followed by a unison cry of "BYE, DADDY!!"

**-.-**

**Kyle's POV**

**-.-**

Stan's out the door all of a minute before the Froot Loop war begins anew.

"All right you two," I say with a sigh, "Quit it!"

"But papa…" David whines.

"Breakfast is for eating, not throwing at your brother." The boys find this statement to be hilarious.

"C'mon, guys. Ten minutes and we need to be gone."

"Awright," David says, and dejectedly both boys dig into what's left of their cereals.

**-.-**

**Ten minutes later…**

**-.-**

In my car, we're on our way to preschool. The twins are oscillating between wild excitement and wilder fear.

When we pull up in front of the preschool, David hops out, puts his little backpack on, and squares his shoulders resolutely, waiting for Ryan. When I go over to help Ryan out of his booster seat, he clings on to me desperately.

"Papa, I don' wanna go!" he says, voice muffled by shouting into my coat. I gently extract him from the car and from me, setting him next to David and helping him with his backpack. Ryan's still sniffling, but David puts a reassuring arm around him.

"Now, listen to me, huh?" I say, crouching down to eye level with them. "This is just something you two've gotta do. You know to behave, and I'm very proud of both of you. C'mon?"

David leads a still-apprehensive Ryan along behind me, and we enter the building to be greeted by teachers who _HAVE_ to be on crack or something to be as enthusiastic as they are.

After registration is complete, I crouch down again to talk to both of my wide-eyed boys.

"Remember to behave, and I'll see you this afternoon, OK?" I say, and they just nod. With an affectionate hair-ruffle for both of them, I'm on my way to my _OWN_ school for another frustrating day of teaching teenagers to draw triangles and fruit bowls.

**-.-**

**David's POV**

**-.-**

Papa's just out the door when Ryan turns to me, fear evident in his eyes.

"David, I'm scawed."

"Don't wowwy, Wyan…I see Daniel an' Katie!" I say, after quickly searching the room for familiar faces.

"Weally?" Ryan asks, brightening up.

"Yeah! They'we ovew by the bwocks!" I say, grabbing his hand and pulling him along after me.

On our way over to our two friends, our path is blocked by a scowling boy that we don't know.

"Hi!" I say cheerfully, extending my free hand like I've seen Daddy and Papa do. "I'm David Bwoflovski, an' this is my bwothew Wyan!"

"I'm Jason Hawwis," he replies, staring at my hand. Feeling uncomfortable, I drop it. How unfriendly…

"Wanna pway?" I ask.

"MY daddy says I'm not s'posed to pway with FAG-spawn," he spits. I don't know WHAT that means, but it made Ryan cry. And if it makes Ryan cry…

I draw back my fist and punch Jason in the nose.

**-.-**

"David Isaac Broflovski!" Papa sounds angry, and Daddy doesn't look thrilled either.

"Sowwy, Papa," I say as Miss Teacher comes over.

"Mr. Broflovski, your son punched another boy in the face!"

"David? Why?" Papa asks me.

"Jason made Wyan cwy," I answer.

"Jason?" Papa asks.

"Jason Harris," Miss Teacher says.

"Why did Ryan cry?" Daddy asks.

"Jason said he wasn't s'posed pway with 'fag-spawn,'" I answer. "I don't know what that is, but he made Wyan cwy, so I punched him."

"Fag-spawn," Daddy grunts. "Oh, I am going to _KILL_ Clyde."

"Stan!" Papa shouts. "Set a good example!"

Daddy glowers, and Papa turns to Miss Teacher.

"You're going to tolerate that?"

"Well, no," she says, flustered, "but Jason didn't _PUNCH_ anybody, Mr. Broflovski."

"No, not physically. But he sucker-punched Ryan's emotions with that statement. David was only defending his brother from an attack." Papa's good at arguing. Daddy says he should've gone to law school.

They continue on for a few minutes before I'm addressed again.

"David," Miss Teacher says, "you're going to stay in time-out until snack time. Jason will have time-out after you. No more punching people, OK?"

"Yes, Miss Teachah," I say.

"Good job, David," Papa says. "I'd better not get any more phone calls like this though."

"Yes, Papa," I say, and they go over to talk to Ryan before leaving. Daddy is talking animatedly about something.

Looking over at that meanie Jason as they leave, I feel satisfied when I look at his busted nose. That oughta teach him to make my brother cry. I can't, however, figure out why Papa was so proud of me and why Miss Teacher put me in time-out.

**-.-**

After my release from time-out, I wander over to the blocks where Ryan is playing morosely with Daniel and Katie.

"Hey!" I say cheerfully, walking up from behind him. He perks up at the sound of my voice.

"David!" he says, jumping up and giving me a hug. "You'we the awesomest big bwothew evah!"

"Yeah, David, way to show that meanie-head!" Daniel says from over where Katie is building a wall of blocks around him.

"But guys, Wyan was a mess withowt David," she admonishes Daniel. "He's just been putting those two bwocks togethew fow the last half-howah."

"Well, I'm here now!" I insist. "Wyan, you wanna help me buiwd a wall awound them too?"

"Yeah!" Ryan says, scrambling off to look for more blocks with a giggle.

"Aw, David, that's not FAIW!" Daniel protests from behind the wall Katie's building. "It's like I'm in pwison or something…" I laugh.

"Nuh-UH! You get yow own fowt!" I say. "An' we'll twy and take it ovah! An' you gotta defend it ow else you lose!"

"Weak!" Daniel complains as Ryan comes back with an armload of blocks.

"Let's get stawted!" he says, handing me a red rectangle.

**-.-**

The rest of the day passes pretty much uneventfully, even though we are some of the last kids to get picked up. Mr. Harris gave me a dirty look when he came to pick up Jason. I don't think he likes me much…

Finally, Daddy and Papa come for me and Ryan. Waving goodbye to Daniel and Katie, we walk out of the school and get into Daddy's big car. Papa must've taken his back home already.

"So…after this morning, did you two have fun?" Papa asks. Ryan and I both nod enthusiastically.

"We had cookies fow snack, and Wyan and I builded a fowt awound Danny and Katie an' then we knockeded it down!" I say.

"Built and knocked," Papa corrects me. "That sounds like fun…did you do anything else?"

"Nope!" Ryan says. "Well…we fingewpainted in the aftewnoon, but that was bowing…" Daddy and Papa laugh. Ryan doesn't like fingerpaints much…something about clowns at the fair.

When we get home, Papa puts us both on the couch and stands in front of the TV with Daddy.

"After this morning, your Daddy and I thought we ought to explain a few things to you. Not much, because you're still really young and it would probably just confuse you more, but…David, what did Jason call you two again?"

"Fag-spawn, Papa," I say, giving Ryan a quick hug after he looks a little sad at the use of the term.

"And you said you don't know what it means?" Both of us shake our head "no."

"Well, basically and without giving too much away, it means that you have two guys for parents. When you're older we'll be able to tell you more, but don't ever let anybody give your crap because we're your parents, OK? David, that's why I congratulated you this morning even though you were being punished. You did the right thing, even if it was technically against the rules," Papa says.

"You weally should go to law school, Papa," I say. "You'we weally good at it!" Papa chuckles.

"No, David, that's your grandpa's thing. I hate wearing suits…"

"Whatsa suit?"

"After dinner," Daddy says. Once I get in an inquisitive mood, very often there's no stopping me.

"What's for dinner?" I ask.

"Oh, Jesus…" Daddy says. "If I give the two of you a cookie, will you stop asking questions until after we eat?"

"Yes!" both of us say, jumping off the couch to follow Daddy into the kitchen.

"Stan, you've REALLY gotta stop doing that!" Papa calls after us, before sighing and giving in when Daddy does something strange with his eyebrows.

Grown-ups sure are weird…

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: OK, this touched on the shit the twins are gonna have to face for having two daddies. Next chapter's gonna really hit it hard, so stay tuned!!**

**Phoenix II**


	8. Explanations

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta…**

_Chapter Seven – Explanations_

**Disclaimer: …is now out of the way.**

**Summary: An art assignment raises questions with the Twins.**

**Author's Notes: OK…as of now, the rest of the story is planned. I just have to write it all :P**

**-.-**

**South Park, CO**

**March 10, 2014**

**11:30 A.M.**

**-.-**

"OK, class, today we're going to fingerpaint!" Miss Teacher says. Next to me, Ryan frowns. He HATES fingerpainting…

"You all have a sheet of paper in front of you, and there's plenty of paint to go around. I want you to make a picture of your mommy, your daddy, your brothers and sisters, and your house, OK?" she says. A little girl in the front raises her hand.

"Yes, Jaimie?" she says, and the girl asks, "What about our kitties and doggies?"

"OK, you can include your pets too, if you want," Miss Teacher tells the rest of us.

Ryan and I look at each other. I wave Miss Teacher over. We've both got a question. Daniel's on my other side, and I think he wants to ask something similar.

"Yes, boys?" she asks, crouching down next to us.

"Miss Teacher, what's a mommy?" Ryan asks. Daniel and I nod.

"You don't know what a mommy is?" She looks confused for a second. "Oh! Oh! Oh wait…you don't have mommies, do you?" We shake our heads "no."

"Well…erm…go ahead and just make a picture of your daddies and your brothers and your pets and your house, OK?" she says, looking away…

"No, Joey, don't eat the fingerpaints!" she yells, running away.

"Well?" Daniel asks me. "What do we do now?"

"We paint!" I announce proudly, looking for some green. Our house is green…and Papa has a green hat…and Daddy's pants are usually green. It's 'cause he coaches football at the High School…they wear green uniforms, so he wears green. Papa says he liked him better in blue, but I don't think I'm s'posed to know that.

"Hey! Daviiid, gimme the paint!" Ryan whines, reaching for the green paint as I snatch it up before he gets to it.

"You can dwaw Papa first, Wyan!" I say. "Den I'll dwaw Papa, and you can dwaw Daddy and the house!"

"O. K." Ryan says, enthusiastically, before making Daniel mad by grabbing the color he apparently needs for his Daddy's pants.

"So? Yow daddy doesn't usually wear pants anyway!" Katie stays, stepping in.

"Does so!" Daniel says, turning red in the face.

"Nuh-uh! He nevew has pants on when Daddy brings me ovew…" she says.

"Yow daddy DOES get hammewed," I say. "Maybe that's why."

"Daddy does NOT get hammewed!" Daniel retorts. "I've nevew seen him wif a hammew."

"That's what MY Daddy says," I say. "Papa says yow daddy needsta stop dwinking so much."

"And eat mow!" Ryan chimes in.

"Shuddup!" Daniel says. "Ow else I'll hafta tell 'im and I'll get gwounded!"

"That's pwetty weak," Ryan, Katie and I say in unison. "Yow daddy's mean, Danny!" Katie adds.

"Yeah," Daniel concedes. "I wish I knew my mommy…Daddy says she's hawt."

Ryan looks at me. We saw Daniel's Mommy once, in Denver. Daddy and Papa told her about Daniel, and she didn't seem too thrilled that his Daddy had managed to keep him alive. She didn't look hawt either…I think Papa called her an "ugly skank." Or…that might've been Daddy. I dunno…but it doesn't really seem like something Papa would say.

**-.-**

"So, boys, how was school today?" Papa asks as we walk out to the car after school, each of us carrying our picture.

"Gweat, Papa!" Ryan and I say as we get into our car seats and let Papa strap us in.

"What'd you guys do today, sport?" Daddy asks me as Papa gets in and buckles himself up before we start driving home.

"We had to make a pitchew," I say. "But it was weiwed, Daddy…what's a Mommy?"

Daddy and Papa look at each other.

"We'll tell you when we get home, boys," Papa says. "Can I see the pictures?"

"Show, Papa!" Ryan and I say, passing them up to him.

"Oh!" he says, startled. "Oh, boys…they're great!"

"Awe they going on the wefwidgewatow?" Ryan asks, excited. Papa nods, and says, "Yep! Both of them. I'm very proud of you two!" Ryan does a little happy dance in his seat. My brother is strange…

**-.-**

When we get home, Daddy and Papa give us cookies and set us in front of the TV while they go into the kitchen and shut the door so they can talk about something. Because I don't wanna watch cartoons, I walk over to the kitchen door and try to listen in on what Daddy and Papa are saying.

"—can't lie to them forever, Stan," Papa says.

"Kyle, they're…" Daddy says, before I can't hear anything. I try harder, and hear "You think they'd understand?"

Papa's reply is inaudible, but when he's done I hear footsteps approaching the door. I race over and sit by Ryan, who's looking at me funny.

"Boys, you wanna sit on the couch?" Papa asks, turning off the TV. Quickly we comply, and are listening with full attention to Papa.

"You want to know what a mommy is?" Papa asks. We nod.

"A mommy is like a girl version of a daddy. They're the ones who carry you before you're born.

"But neither of you awe girls," Ryan points out.

"Right. We're both guys, so we couldn't have kids by ourselves," Daddy says.

"Then how did we get hewe?" I ask, confused. This doesn't make any sense.

"You were born in Denver, to a mommy," Papa says, "but your mommy couldn't take care of you, so she gave you to the doctors at the hospital to take care of. Later, your Daddy and I came along, because we wanted kids, and then we saw you and the people in charge of you let us take you home with us and make your our kids."

"So we do have a mommy, she's just not hewe?" Ryan asks. Daddy nods.

"That's OK!" Ryan says. "Girls are weiwed anyway. I don't WANT a mommy!" Daddy and Papa are smiling.

"Do you understand, David?" Papa asks.

"Yep!" I say. It's still weird, but maybe I'll understand later. I have two parents, what do I care if they're both guys. Two parents are two parents. It's more than Daniel has…

"Any other questions before dinner?" Daddy asks.

"Why doesn't Daniel's daddy evew weaw pants?" Ryan asks from his edge of the couch. Daddy and Papa start laughing.

""Cuz he's always hammered!" Daddy says.

"But Daniel says his daddy nevew has a hammew!" I chime in.

"Oh…boys, that's not what hammered means," Papa says. "It mean's he's always drunk."

"I knew it! I was wight!" I say, jumping up and punching my fist into the air. Ryan's looking at me funny. So are Daddy and Papa. I can guess why, so I sheepishly return to sitting down.

"Riiiight," Papa says, drawing out the "I" sound. "Do you wanna go hang up your pictures?"

"Yeah!" we both shout, and leap down off the couch, following Daddy and Papa into the kitchen and over to the refrigerator. Papa finds two magnets and hands them to us, along with our pictures.

"Find a spot for 'em!" he encourages. "Go on!"

Looking at Ryan, we step forward and examine the fridge. Reaching up to our fullest heights, we stick our pictures up next to each other. There are a couple of differences, mainly size wise, because my fingers are bigger, but otherwise they pretty much look the same.

And, for all his complaining, Ryan's actually pretty good with fingerpaints. I mean…my handwriting at the top saying who's who is pretty messy, but Ryan's looks like he actually took time and used a brush or something. Well…he did take time, but there weren't any brushes. That would've defeated the purpose of fingerpainting.

"Who feels like going to Whistlin' Willy's?" Daddy asks. Now THAT gets us both excited, and we're at our parents' feet, pleading.

"Oh can we can we can we PLEEEEEEEEEASE!?!" we both say, with a few variations, on the order of twenty times in the two minutes it takes Daddy and Papa to acquiesce to our pleas.

"Alright…but no, David, I will NOT help you cheat at SkeeBall," Papa says.

"But Papaaaaa!!" I whine. He knows how I need to throw it to get the right angle to always get the most points and win the jackpot.

Daddy winks at me. I smile…I WILL have my jackpot!

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: Well…there's Chapter Seven. It's quite a shame that we're not going to get to any of the good parts in this story until…Jesus Christ, the end of July. And the story isn't going to end until the middle of October…holy hell.**

**Phoenix II**


	9. Playtime

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta…**

_Chapter Eight – Playtime_

**Disclaimer: The kids are mine. The rest…not so much.**

**Summary: The new foursome goes to the park. They's still 5.**

**Author's Notes: Hurrah! Hehehe…I won't tell you how significant this chapter will be to the rest of the fic. You **_**MIGHT**_** wanna take notes though. Just sayin'. You never know XDDDD**

**-.-  
**

**May 31, 2014**

**South Park, CO**

**10:30 A.M.**

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

I'm not too pleased with Daddy and Papa right now. They're taking me and David to the park. Now…normally I'm a big fan of park-going-to, but NOT in the middle of Sesame Street! C'mon…Today's show was brought to me by the Letter K! Elmo was going to teach us about brushing our teeth after the commercial break. Leave it to Daddy and Papa to take THAT time to pick me and David up off the couch and drag us out to the car. Now I'll have to listen to another boring lecture from that creepy woman Daddy calls a "creepy witch" and Papa says is my "dentist".

I really wouldn't have minded going to the park…maybe in the afternoon? All they have is stupid talking aardvarks in the afternoon. And all CNN has is Wolf Blitzer, and I got bored with him after one viewing. In short…perhaps I need a hobby? But morning is when all the good shows are on…the ones I LIKE, and the ones that are educational! You'd think Papa would know better than to interrupt my education, as smart as he is, but…apparently this slipped his mind. I should show him the TV schedule so he knows when not to make me do things.

They said something about a "playdate" sometime while they were lifting us up and carrying us to the car and buckling us in and starting it up and backing out of the driveway and driving to the park. Playdates are starting to suck now though…we've seen plenty of Daniel and Katie at school…don't you think we ought to get a bit of a break over the summer? Apparently not, at least according to Daddy. He's determined to make sure we're all friendly with each other. Something about reminding him about HIS childhood…

**-.-**

When we arrive, Uncle Kenny has Katie over by one of the benches, over by Uncle Leo (Daddy and Papa call him "Butters", I don't know why) and Daniel. Daddy and Papa guide us over there, and then give us a collective push over towards the playground. I dunno what's so fascinating…we can't use the swings without them to boost us, and that just leaves the stupid things. I can beat Danny, Katie, or David at tic-tac-toe within five moves, the little chimes haven't been interesting for a couple years now, the sandbox always has dogpoo in it, and the slides make me nauseous. I get bored very easily at the park. I wanna watch Sesame Street, Goddamnit!

"Awight, Whaddaya wanna do?" David asks, standing up on one of the little benches and lording over us.

"I dunno," Daniel says.

"Whatever," I say with a shrug. Whatever it is'll be hella-boring, I already know that much.

"I wanna pway wif you!" Katie says. Gah. Papa worries that Katie takes after her mother before she married Uncle Kenny. I think there might me something to those worries. I mean…look at her! She's just fawning over my brother like the creepy old people who try and pawn off icky cookies on us. I should probably keep a sharp eye on her; make sure she doesn't try something untoward to David.

"OK!!" David says enthusiastically. "C'mon Katie, let's go pway wif da horsies!" Those stupid little plastic horse things on springs that bounce up and down and sway when you lean any direction. Sometimes I worry about my brother too. I know Daddy and Papa do…I'm already WAY ahead of him with reading and stuff.

"Daviiiiiiiiiiiiiiid," I complain. "I want you to help me wif the monkey bars!" Well…the little ones. David's been getting angry lately because he thinks they're too easy, but he can't reach the big-kid ones yet.

"Latew, Wyan! I'm gonna play horsies wif Katie!" he says, grabbing her hand and dragging her off. I slump my shoulders and sigh… The guy just deserted me for a "mini-whore," if I heard Papa muttering right. With a sigh, I turn to face my remaining playmate option – Daniel.

"C'mon, Wyan!" he says, grabbing my hand and jerking me out of my thoughts. "Let's go make sand cassels!!" And then I'm being dragged off towards the sandbox. Apparently, Danny hasn't grabbed quite enough dogshit to understand that the sandbox ISN'T good for playing in. I try to point this out, but he won't listen.

**-.-**

**Fifteen Minutes Later**

**-.-**

With another sigh I continue absent-mindedly shoveling sand. Well…not so much shoveling as scooping and pushing and not-really-giving-a-shit about the whole thing. A giggle from Danny's corner draws my attention over to him.

"Lookit, Wyan!" he says, indicating something that I suppose is supposed to be a castle. It'd be better if…the sand was wet…and he had a bucket…it looks kinda like a bunch of piles connected…with…Oh my GOD!

"Dude!" I exclaim. "Is that dogshit!?!"

"I ALWAYS tell you its good fow sticking things togethew, but you nevew lissen!" he exclaims.

"Dude!" I say again. "That's SICK!"

"You nevew unnewstand!" he says. He's gonna cry…again. I try doing what Daddy does any time HE gets stressed out like this and pinch the bridge of my nose…it actually works.

"Dude, don't cry…"

No dice. Danny's crying brings over David, Katie, and our parents.

"Ryan!" Papa says. "What'd you do?"

"Nuffin!" I insist. "I shouldn't HAVE to tell him it's sick to use dogshit to hold togethew a sand cassel!"

"Again?" Daddy asks. "Jesus Christ, Butters, this is the fourth time this month!"

"Hey, fellas, at least he's not eating it anymore," Uncle Leo says. Everyone looks disgusted. I jump as far back from Danny as I can, with another "DUDE!!!"

"Butters…I know this isn't really anything they cover in a book, but Dude! He could get really sick from this!" Papa says. Katie's clinging to David. I've got no idea why she needs any comfort…

"G-gee, fellas…I mean, he's a kid! He's gonna do some weird things every now and then."

"Dude, we thought we could put out a fire by pissing on it at his age, but even WE knew better than to even TOUCH dogshit with our bare hands, much less put it in our mouths," Uncle Kenny says. "Although…there was that one time, but it was ONLY because Fatass said he'd give me money, and don't ANY of you try and tell me any different!!"

"Touchy much, Ken?" Papa asks with a grin. "I thought you looked back on your poor days with a laugh nowadays?"

"Shut it, Kyle. Just shut it," Uncle Kenny hisses.

"You eated dogshit, Unca Kenny?" I ask. If he says yes, my opinion of the man will drop several notches.

"Dogshit, LEGOs, a couple of twigs, a rock, week-expired milk, one of your Papa's hats, expired cough medicine, and Mr. Lu Kim's Chinese food. Killed me every time, and I never even got paid once," Uncle Kenny replies.

"EEEEEEEEEW!" David says. Well…perhaps there's hope for him yet. I feel like puking, myself.

"YOU ATE MY HAT!?!" Papa shrieks.

"Dude, c'mon…we were five!"

"Dude! You ATE my HAT!"

"And the Cossack spirit that possessed it took over my body and made me try and assassinate the Russian Ambassador at the consulate over in San Francisco or L.A. or wherever the hell, where I got shot by security guards for my troubles. I've always said since that hat was more trouble than it was worth," Uncle Kenny replies.

"Oh yeah…that was pretty funny," Daddy replies. "I remember that one…" Papa's glaring at Daddy. Daddy's always unhappy for a week or so after he gets those looks. It's always real quiet at night during those weeks too, but then one night it gets REALLY loud over in their room. I hope they're not fighting…it's bad enough for my sleep just having to listen to all the noise that night.

Then, Daniel starts crying louder, bringing us back to the point of the parents coming over here: Danny is playing with dogshit. Daddy, Papa, and Uncle Kenny look at Uncle Leo and gesture towards Danny.

"Aww, gee whiz, fellas," Uncle Leo says. "I HATE doing this…"

"Butters, I swear to God if you don't do it we're going to get your dad on your case," Papa says. He sounds frustrated.

"Hamburgers," Uncle Leo says, picking up Danny and standing him up straight.

"Now listen here, young man!" he says, holding up a finger and pointing at Danny, "No more playing with dog poo! You are GROUNDED, mister!"

Danny stares up at Uncle Leo, blinks once, twice, then…"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!"

"Goddamnit, Butters!" Daddy, Papa, and Uncle Kenny shout. "You're supposed to shut him up, not make him cry louder!" Uncle Leo looks on the verge of tears himself, fumbling around in his pockets for something. He finally finds what he's looking for – a large sucker – and hastily unwraps in and pretty much shoves it into Danny's mouth, instantly silencing him.

"THERE!" Uncle Leo announces, fairly proud of himself. The others are looking at him with what I can only call exasperation. Well-warranted too…I think I'd rather have Danny bawling because his Daddy sucks at parenting than because his dentist has to drill into his teeth to fix cavities. If Uncle Leo keeps this up, 1) Danny's gonna get bipolar disorder, and 2) He's gonna have cavities in every one of his teeth. And we'll NEVER hear the end of it. As it is, Daddy and Papa have forbidden David and me from having sweets any time Uncle Leo uses this tactic to silence Danny. David always whines about it, but I know why they do it and therefore do nothing more than the requisite pout. Otherwise they might catch on and try and put me in big-kid classes. They already look at me funny every time I turn on CNN and stare at the TV. I've already had my jaw checked by Daddy to make sure I'm not a Canadian…I don't understand why, but Papa was laughing the whole time.

**-.-**

"Does this mean we don't get any candy this aftewnoon at the stowe?" David asks when we're back in the car.

"You know the drill, David," Papa says. "Do you want to have to go through what's going to happen to poor Danny?"

"No, Papa," David says with a sigh. "But I'm tiwed of only getting sugaw-fwee gum at the stowe…."

"David," Papa says with a bit of a growl. "No. Complaining."

Instead of whining and losing his next-week's candy too, David takes to sulking in his car seat. Leaning over, I poke him in his tickle-spot. He breaks out in giggles, so I do it again, and again, and again until Papa looks back to see what David thinks is so funny.

"He was pouting, Papa," I say. "Fwowning'll give him winkles. So I make him smile instead!"

"Good job, Ryan," Papa says, "just try to keep it down. Your Daddy is trying to drive."

"OK, Papa!" I say, and he turns back around.

"Happy yet?" I ask David, who's panting for breath.

"Yeah. Thanks, Wyan," he says. "But it's not faiw fow you to do dat when I can't wetaliate!"

"Do it when we get home, den, silly!" I answer.

"You'we on!"

"Boys!"

"Sowwy, Papa…"

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: Coming up next…The Boys take the Twins to their Grandparents. Ch. 9 – A Trip to Grandparents (Broflovski)! Coming May 25, and will be a LOT less interesting than Pirates of the Caribbean III.**


	10. A Trip to Grandparents Broflovski

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Nine – A Trip to Grandparents (Broflovski)_

**Disclaimer: I STILL don't own SP, Goddamnit!**

**Summary: Stan and Kyle take the Twins to see Kyle's parents. Sheila proceeds to be a bitch.**

**Author's Notes: Thanks to Ben Barrett for helping me out with ideas for this chapter and next week's. And! This story's over 1000 views! Woot!**

**-.-**

**June 8, 2014**

**South Park, CO**

**1:25 P.M.**

**-.-**

**Kyle's POV**

**-.-**

We are LATE! God damn it all…We should have been in the car by now, pulling out of the driveway. I swear I'll never hear the end of this…

"Stan! Ryan! David! Come on!!" I say from the door. I, of course, have been ready for the last ten minutes. Is it too much to expect of my husband and my sons to be ready on time as well? Apparently…

David pokes his head out of the twins' room and calls down to me. "Papa!! We've got a pwoblem!!"

I sigh. "What is it, David?"

"Wyan! He can't get his zippews an' buttons done!" Oh boy…I thought Ryan was the smart one.

"How'd you get yours done?" I call up, heading for the stairs myself.

"Daddy did 'em!"

"Can't Daddy do Ryan's?"

"I'm shaving, Kyle!" Stan shouts from the bathroom. God damnit.

"Alright, I'll handle it!!" I answer, climbing the stairs and heading for the boys' room.

"Papa!!" Ryan squeals from his bed, where his pants lay undone and his shirt, though tucked in, is buttoned like Tweek used to do. "I can't figuwe this out! Help!"

"Getting too big for your britches, Ryan?" I ask, heading over and kneeling down.

"I'm not fat, Papa! I jus' can't button it!!" my youngest insists.

"It's alright. First, let's fix your shirt…you've got to line up the buttons with the right hole. This isn't right, son. You haven't been drinking Daddy's coffee, have you?"

"No! It's hot!" Ryan insists, as I move his small hands to unbutton the shirt, and then re-button it correctly. Just as we finish the shirt, my cell phone starts ringing in my pocket. Without bothering to check the Caller-ID, I answer it.

"Hello?"

"Ki-yole, WHERE are you!?" greets my mother's nasal voice. My grimace tells Ryan and David to quiet down.

"Haven't left the house yet, Mom."

"Ki-yole, you said you and Stanley would be here with the boys at one-thirty. It's one-thirty now, and you're telling me you haven't even left your house yet?"

"We've had some problems getting the twins dressed, Ma. They haven't quite mastered buttons and zippers yet. I'm just finishing Ryan right now."

"Alright, Ki-yole. You were always such a punctual boy, I was wondering what was keeping you. How much longer do you think you'll be?"

"Shouldn't be much more than another fifteen minutes, if that," I answer. "Stan should be done shaving by now, as soon as I finish getting Ryan dressed, we'll be putting on our coats and heading out, OK?"

"Alright. See you soon, bubby. Good-bye."

"Bye mom," I say, hanging up and returning my attention to Ryan.

"Gwanmama?" he asks as I make sure his shirt is tucked in all the way and that his pants are buttoned.

"Yep," I answer, helping him pull up the zipper and straighten his hair back out from where he apparently spazzed over his inability to dress himself. He puts his own shoes on, and I herd the twins towards the door, where Stan is standing, clean-shaven and ready himself.

"Not often I see you pulling a zipper UP," he quipped, and I shoot him a glare as we usher the twins downstairs, pulling on our coats. All we have to help the twins with here is getting the zippers to match. They can handle big ones, just not ones where the zip-pull isn't dangling free. Sometimes they get stuck in the pants. Stupid zippers…

"Mom called," I say as we head out to the car. He grimaces.

"Chastising us for being late?"

"A little. Apparently she misses her little, punctual bubbelah, and wanted to know that we WOULD be there sometime before the Apocalypse."

"See, this is why I didn't give MY parents a timeframe. God, we'll be lucky to get there before dark, the way YOUR Mom is. We haven't been there since what, Hannukah?"

"Yeah," I reply, getting in the car. "We should think of having them and yours over for a cookout pretty soon. Maybe Kenny and Bebe and Katie too."

"Butters and Daniel?" he asks, following suit after making sure Ryan and David are buckled in to their car seats.

"Butters, no. With him and your dad there, there won't be any beer for the rest of us. But if Danny wants to come with Katie, I don't see any problems there." Stan lets out a laugh at my passing comment on his dad's still-chronic alcoholism. At least now he knew enough to only get plastered at home. That incident when we were all sixteen and he killed Kenny while Driving While Intoxicated had taught him that lesson.

The drive to my parents passes pleasantly enough. Ryan and David stare out the windows at the sparse scenery and houses around town, Stan stares at the road, and I fiddle with the radio, looking for ANY kind of music that's not Country. God, I HATE country music…

**-.-**

When we arrive, Stan gets the twins out of the backseat and I head up the walk for the doorbell, Stan, Ryan, and David following me like a small little entourage. It's 1:43 when I ring the doorbell, and I barely have lowered my arm when the door is flung open and I'm enveloped in the crushing embrace of my mother.

"Ki-yole! Oh, Bubby, how nice to see you!!" she exclaims, while I gasp for breath, the twins look apprehensive, and Stan chuckles. Well. Let's just wait and see the treatment he gets from HIS mother later.

"Hi to you too, Mom," I choke out, prompting her to release me and look me over.

"You're STILL too thin, Bubby," she says. "Ach, but where are my manners? Come in, all of you! Stanley, Ryan, David, nice to see you all as well."

"Hello, all!" Dad chimes in from his new recliner, peering up over the newspaper and the rims of his new reading glasses. "Kyle, Stan, nice of you to visit with the kids."

"Hi Gwanmama, Hi Gwanpapa!" both the twins say, in unison. Mom does an affectionate squeal at this, especially considering the way we dressed them today: blue cotton button-downs and khaki pants. Stan says this is appropriate Sunday wear for kids their age. I'll trust him on this, since pretty much the only things I wear on Sundays are T-shirts and sweatpants.

"Hello, boys!" Mom says, producing cookies almost out of nowhere. I'm willing to bet she had them hidden in her hair. Wouldn't be the first time she did a magic trick by pulling things out of that mess. At any rate, the twins are delighted and start munching as Mom grabs me and, letting me grab the twins, drags the lot of us over to the couch.

"Sit down, sit down, and tell me what you've been up to! How has preschool been, you two?" Mom asks the twins.

"It's pwetty fun now," David says. "We'we leawning to tell time and tie owah shoes!"

"It was pwetty bowing at fiwst," Ryan agrees. "'Cause Miss Teacher just had us fingewpaint evewyday," and he makes a face, "but now we'we actually leawning things!"

"And how about other children?" asks Mom. "Have you two made any little friends like your Daddy and your Papa did at preschool?"

"Uncle Kenny and Uncle Leo's kids awe owah fwiends!" David answers. "Katie's pwetty cool, fow a giwl, and Danny…well…"

"Danny likes to pway wif dogshit!" Ryan announces. Uh-oh…THIS won't end well. I see a hint of recognition in Dad's eye, and barely before I can blink, he's discarded the paper, is out of his chair, and is dragging Stan off towards the garage. He has his own stash of beer there, I remember.

Mom is livid. She's turning red, close to purple…

"WHATWHATWHAAAAAAAAT!?!?!" Oh God…here's the emergence of the Proper-Language-Nazi side of Mom…must NOT let Ryan repeat that.

"Danny likes to pway wif dogsh –" My hand clamps firmly over Ryan's mouth, just in time to prevent him from committing a double violation.

"Ki-yole! Where did little Ryan learn that language?"

"I think it was Kenny, honestly. Vicariously, if not directly. Kenny's not exactly the most mindful of his words at times, Mom," I reply. Oh, boy, we're in deep shit now…she's on a tirade.

"It was Katie," David chimes in, ever-so-helpfully. "Afta' the fiwst time we catched him pwaying wif it and eating it."

"He EATS it!?!" Now she's just disgusted. "Who the hell is raising him?"

"Butters," I say, cringing.

"The Stotch boy?" Mom asks. I nod. "I thought he was gay?"

"He is."

"Did he adopt?"

"Nope."

"Who did he knock up?"

"Lexus, from Raisins."

"Oy."

"Took the word right out of my mouth. His skills as a parent are…somewhat lacking, to say the least. Although, he does say he's stopped eating it. It's still pretty disgusting, I agree. He still hasn't quite caught on to that." Actually, I think there's a pretty good bit that Danny's not quite caught on to yet. It'll be a miracle if the kid avoids Special Ed. Especially considering that's where they've stuck senile old Mrs. Garrison.

"I should call his parents," Mom says.

"Oh, Moses no. Butters freaks out every time anyone mentions his parents. If you call them, and they call him, he'll either go get incredibly wasted, or shoot himself. Probably both, especially if they try to ground him. Which, I think you'll agree, is incredibly likely." The twins are looking at us funny. I think this has evolved beyond a simple grandkids-catching-up-grandparents moment. Perhaps…yep, there come two more cookies.

With the twins now occupied by the sugary goodness that accompanies cookies, I scoot them off the couch.

"Why don't you two run along and try to find your Daddy and Grandpapa?" I suggest. "Let me and Grandmama talk some more?"

"OK, Papa!" David says, holding the cookie in one hand and grabbing ahold of Ryan with the other. "C'mon, Wyan! I think they went dis way!" And they're off.

"So, Bubby…another group of four friends, eh?"

"It was all Stan's idea," I say. "Although, I think it is a good idea. I mean…it worked out pretty well for us. As long as one of them doesn't turn into a Cartman…but, fecal consumption issues aside, they're all good kids. After that incident the first day with Clyde's son, there haven't really been any problems discipline-wise."

"Maybe you should have a talk with Kenny about the kind of language his daughter is passing along, Ki-yole," Mom suggests.

"That's probably a good idea," I agree. "I mean…yeah, we were swearing when we were their age, and it's pretty funny every time, but…there should at least be a façade of respect and dignity in the world. Plus, the whole 'respect your elders' thing."

"Don't make light of that, Bubby," Mom admonishes. "Besides, the lot of you were nearly impossible throughout school. I think it would be best for all of you if you didn't have to worry about THAT, at least, from your children."

"You're right, Mom, I'm sorry," I say. "But I think I had better go and fetch the twins before they catch Stan and Dad knocking back cold ones in the garage."

"Gerald can be SO irresponsible at times," she clucks. "Go on, Ki-yole. I'm sure you all have a few more stories to share as well!" she adds, as I rise and go in the direction the twins had taken. Granted, it's not an easy path from there to the garage, but if anyone could manage it without attracting attention, it would be David.

And, after all this, I am NOT in the mood to explain what Daddy does to make himself happy sometimes.

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: OK, I'm ending it here, because while it would be nice to go all the way to them leaving Kyle's parents, I need SOMETHING to begin next chapter, where they move on to Stan's parents, in ch. 10: A Trip to Grandparents (Marsh), coming to you June 1!! Or May 31…depends.**

**Phoenix II**


	11. A Trip to Grandparents Marsh

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Ten – A Trip to Grandparents (Marsh)_

**Disclaimer: Still not mine.**

**Summary: Stan and Kyle take Ryan and David to Stan's Parents' house. A rather interesting discussion occurs.**

**Author's Notes: Eeee! God…I'm all pepped up for the start of the next series of chapters! You should be too…IMO, they're gonna be pretty damn good!**

**-.-**

**June 8, 2014**

**South Park, CO**

**4:30 P.M.**

**-.-**

**Stan's POV**

**-.-**

Kyle gives his mom and dad a hug as we head out the door, Ryan and David guiding me to the car. I'm able to stop them by digging my heels in and waiting for Kyle to finish saying his goodbyes.

"So, you'll be there next weekend?" he asks. Oh yeah…I get to do another turn on the Kosher Grill of Judaistic Awesomeness, as Kyle has so wittingly named it. Good things happen when we break out that grill.

"Of course we will, Ki-yole," his mom replies. His dad just nods, looking briefly to me, where I confirm with a tip of my hand and a nod that there will be beer available, upon which his nodding becomes slightly more vigorous.

"Alright then, see you there!" Kyle says, heading down to relieve me of David at least, waving goodbye as we all get back into the car.

"Alright, Stan, to your old house!" he says, with a theatrical point as I start the engine. From the backseat, David pipes up.

"Will Granmom have cookies?" he asks.

"Can she pull 'em outta her hair?" Ryan chimes in. Son of a bitch…Sheila's spoiled them. I don't know if Mom'll have cookies…I guess it really depends on how far gone Dad is by now. Then again, it's the middle of a Sunday afternoon in June. I'd wager on he's pretty far gone, especially since the Rockies are down again and the Nuggets missed the finals in five games to the Suns. So, all I can answer with is a falsely-happy "We'll see, boys!" as I put the car in gear.

Kyle shoots me an inquisitive look. I mouth back, "No fucking way." Kyle winces and commences fiddling with the radio.

**-.-**

When we arrive, I get out first while Kyle unbuckles the twins. Mom answers the door, but with Kyle and the twins only ten steps behind me, she's only able to get out "Stan, you need to watch – " before they get to the door and Mom's knocked out of the way by…oh, shit, he's still ALIVE!?!

"I'm still not dead yet!" announces Grampa in his wizened wheeze. "Do you think little Billy will help kill me?" Oh, bloody hell! I open my mouth to reply, but I'm cut off.

"Kill me, peckerface!" he insists. This time I'm able to get a reply in…sort of.

"Grampa!" I shout in indignation, both at the implication and the fact that he's teaching my kids words they'll be shouting at each other for the next week or two. And with Sheila and Gerald coming over next weekend...

"Goddamn it, Billy, it's not like it'll kill THEM." Not the point…

"I'm Stan!" I reply.

"Shut up and kill me, Billy!" he retorts.

"Where's Fatass with a malfunctioning V-chip when you need him?" I ask Kyle, who takes over.

"Aren't you afraid of spending eternity in limbo anymore?" Good one, Ky. I knew there were more reasons I married you than the fact that you're fucking awesome in bed…

"Death is a lazy nutsack son of a whore," Grampa replies. "I don't give a damn. Just kill me or let little Billy do it." I'm NOT gonna let Ryan or David kill their Great-Grampa. Besides the fact that they'd be scarred for life, and that they prolly couldn't manage it anyway, he's almost 130 years old. He'll kick it soon enough…I hope. Maybe he should take up smoking…

"Grampa Marsh, we're NOT killing you. Do it yourself, you pussy!" GREAT one, Kyle. Oh, the boys are SO watching the History Channel tonight. You deserve the sex.

"I can't, I'm stuck in this goddamn wheelchair!"

"Tough luck then!" With that, and with as much of a huff as a 130 year old man can pull off, Grampa wheels off and Mom, looking relieved, ushers us all the way into the house. What I didn't expect was for Dad to immediately seize Kyle and drag him off towards the garage.

"Erm…Mom?" I ask, indicating the pillaging of my husband.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Stanley. It's just that I haven't allowed your father to drink yet today, and he's rather anxious to get to it. He didn't even say hello, the inconsiderate ass…"

"Well…I was gonna ask if the both of you could come over next weekend for a cook-out. It's been a while since we had one, and Kyle and I figured it'd be a good way to celebrate Flag Day. His parents'll be there too, and we're inviting Kenny and Bebe, so the boys'll have someone to play with," I say.

"Oh, certainly, Stanley. It certainly has been a while since your father and I were over. We'll be there. What time will it be?" Oh…yeah…the time.

"I think 3:30 on Saturday, but I'll call you if we have to change it," I promise. "You said Dad hadn't had a drink yet today? Does that mean…"

"It certainly does!" Mom replies. "Who wants a cookie?" Ryan and David immediately jump up and raise their hands high into the air. She doesn't pull them out of her hair, but cookies fresh-out-of-the-oven are even better, even if you have to wait a few minutes for them to cool down enough to eat. I think it's because you know that someone went to the trouble of spending time slaving in the kitchen to make them. I'm not saying Kyle's mom doesn't, but…I know Kyle and I don't. Me, who is damn near incapable of cooking things that aren't pasta and can't be made on a grill, and Kyle, who is too damn impatient to make cookies from scratch. So, either we get the kind that you just break off little squares onto a cookie sheet and toss 'em in the oven, or we just buy 'em already cooked. The only problem with that is that Ryan likes Chips Ahoy, and David demands Keebler cookies. So more often than not, we end up buying both.

I quickly fetch a glass of milk for each twin to drink with their cookies, and we sit down at the kitchen table to talk about how the twins have been doing in pre-school.

"Well, I think they've formed a real tight-knit group with Kenny and Butters' kids," I say. "Although, it might be David's fault."

"Why's that, Daddy?" David asks, and Mom looks at me quizzically too.

"Well, you've established yourself as someone who's not to be messed with. I mean, you're there for fifteen minutes and you've already busted another kid's nose open. So everyone else, the kids who DON'T know you, are a little afraid to approach you and Ryan, because they think that if they say something wrong, you'll punch THEM in the face," I explain. Bleh. I think Kyle's starting to rub off on me. And not in a good way, either.

"That meanie-head deserved it for makin' Ryan cry!" David insists. "I'm not mean, Daddy…are they all really afraid of me?" Now David looks on the verge of tears. Mom hands him another cookie and Ryan puts his hand on his shoulder.

"Maybe they're jus' jeawous!" Ryan says. "We've got TWO friends, and most of them only have ONE!"

"But that don't 'splain why they run away from meeee!" David says.

"Maybe they think we're coming to steal THEIR friend! Everybody knows you're one of the friendliest kids in the class…they just worry too much 'bout your temper!" Ryan says. "They don't know yet how to keep you not-pissed-off."

"Ryan!" I hiss. God, that's twice today… "Language?"

"I can't say pissed off?" he asks.

"NO!" I insist. "You're only five, for Christ's sake…"

"Then how come you and Papa can say it?"

"'Cause we can."

"Then why can't I?"

"Because you're not old enough." There. That should shut him up…

"When WILL I be old enough?" Oh God. Luckily, Mom jumps in. Well…sort of.

"Later, Ryan. Stanley, have you been cursing in front of the boys?"

"Well…not really. I mean, occasionally we let the d-bomb slip, but otherwise…no, there's no way they should know that!"

"Ryan, where did you learn those words?"

"Katie. She says 'em all the time. It's funny cuz she only does it when Miss Teacher's back is turned. She called her a bitch one time, and Miss Teacher turned all purple and sent her to time out without a snack!" Ryan says gleefully, remembering it.

"And Katie is?" Mom asks me.

"Kenny's daughter. Bebe's body, Kenny's mind. And, apparently, vocabulary…"

"Stanley, you should really have a talk with your friend…do you really want your children to know all those words before even YOU did?" Now that's not fair…we learned a lot of our Introductory Swear Words at pre-school. We just expanded that part of our vocabulary as we went through school as well.

"Well, no…" I admit. "But at the same time…at least it'll allow us to have normal conversations at home again. These past five years have been fucking excruciating!"

"Stanley!" Mom admonishes me, as the twins' eyes light up.

"Ooh, that's a new one, thanks Daddy!" David says. "Ryan, 'member that!!"

"OK, David!"

"Oh, Goddamnit, no! Ryan, forget that word!"

"No fucking way!" my son retorts, his eyes shining with mirth.

"Don't say the f-word!"

"F-word?" Ryan asks.

"He's talkin' about fuck, Ryan!" David says. "He doesn't want you to say it anymore!"

"Why not? It's not hurting anybody. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck!"

"RYAN!" Mom and I both shout. "No more!"

"But whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?" he whines. "Why can't I say the words you guys can? What's the goddamn difference?"

"It's a morals thing. If we start teaching you to swear before we get you out of Velcro-strap shoes, there's something fundamentally wrong with that!" I insist. "Although, the vernacular sure as hell comes in handy when you're learning to tie shoelaces. REALLY hand, if I remember my childhood right."

"Unfortunately, you are. Boys, if you ARE going to keep swearing, at least have the decency to do it in a foreign language!" Mom says. "So your Grandad and I won't understand what the hell you're saying and can at least pretend it's something decent and non-vulgar."

"Whassa foreign language?" David asks.

"Spanish, French, Portuguese, Russian, Japanese, German, hell, even the Queen's English," comes Kyle's voice from the doorway. "David, you'll learn plenty of Hebrew and Yiddish curses while you're prepping for your bar mitzvah in seven years. From the Torah, your rabbi, and me. For you, Ryan, I'd recommend French, Russian, and German. They're all great languages to curse in, French especially. But if you don't feel like doing that much studying…well, there's always the Queen's English, you little bugger."

"Kyle!" I exclaim, somewhat shocked.

"What? If they really want to swear, maybe all the studying'll dissuade them."

"Where can I start learning French?" Ryan asks, completely in countenance to Kyle's intention.

"Well, your Daddy and I know a Frenchman…if you can get past the bad accent," Kyle says. I don't think this is going to work…

"Can I learn Spanish?" David asks.

"Just ask a Mexican. They'll teach you for…like…probably $5. Because they're desperate like that."

"Can you gimme $5?"

"No."

"But Papaaaa…I wanna learn Spanish!"

"No," Kyle repeats. "Just go buy a dictionary and look up the curse words."

"But our dictionaries don't GOT Spanish!" he insists.

"Go buy a Spanish-English dictionary!"

"How much do THOSE cost?"

"Three bucks."

"But I don't got THREE bucks!"

"Tough luck then! Finish your cookies, and then we need to head home and start cooking dinner."

"Can we watch the Finals on TV while we wait?" David asks. Kyle's apparently forgotten the Finals start tonight.

"Who's playing?" It's really a shame that Kyle's not as up on basketball as he once was…even if I DO occasionally catch him shooting hoops in the gym.

"Suns an' Cavs!"

"Oh yeah! Papa, can we pleeeeeeeease watch the Finals?" Ryan asks. Well, he WOULD be begging…basketball is, and for the life of me I don't quite understand why, the only sport he follows. I think David's gonna be the athlete of the two, really. Kyle probably won't like that, but…that's how it looks to me.

"The Cavs are in? Well hell, of course we can watch the Finals! How's pizza sound to you two?"

"YAYYYYYY!!!" the twins exclaim, hurriedly chowing down on the cookies, aided by me, Kyle, Mom and Dad. Kyle suggests giving one to Grampa, to see if he'll choke on it and die, but he's outvoted by more than a few strange looks. He WILL die on his own…we just need to stop feeding him altogether, I think. Maybe then he'd get the message.

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: OK! Here's Chapter Ten! And some more good news…I've got me a summer job! I think I'll be able to maintain my once-weekly posting schedule, even if I may have to move postings to Saturday, but this story WILL stay on schedule, Goddamnit!!**

**Phoenix II**


	12. Start of Fourth Grade

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Eleven – Start of Fourth Grade_

**Disclaimer: I only own the OCs.**

**Summary: The kids start 4****th**** Grade. They meet their new teacher…who is very strange.**

**Author's Notes: …I'm bored. And I want more reviews… Oh yeah, this chapter is five and 1/4****th**** of a year after the last one. And it's in Ryan's POV.**

**-.-**

**September 4, 2019**

**South Park, CO**

**7:30 A.M.**

**-.-**

"Hey, bitches!!" Katie shouts at us as we walk to the bus stop. Danny's just sitting on a rock and looking for the bus, like he's done every school day for the past year. It's kinda unnerving. Sometimes I wonder what he's thinking about, but, knowing Danny, I probably don't wanna know.

"Hey yourself!" I shout back with a wave, watching with a roll of my eyes and a grimace as David rushes to her side with a sly look, saying "Heeey Katie!!" I don't know why she just doesn't slap him. It's GOT to be just as annoying to her as it is to me, and probably Danny too. But then again, he's way closer to her than David and I are, and he probably knows shit that would scare a Marine away from her.

Just as he's done every school day for the past year, David sits next to Katie on the bus, leaving me stuck across the aisle with Danny. David's attempting to make small talk with her. With an exasperated sigh, I turn to try and strike up a conversation with Danny.

"Hey," I begin.

"Hey," he returns.

"What's up?"

"Nothin' much."

"Oh," I say. "Did you catch the game last night?"

"No. Was it good?"

"I dunno. I didn't watch it either."

"Well then why'd you ask me?"

"I was just wonderin', God!"

"Dad won't let me watch TV. I'm grounded again."

"The hell'd you do now?"

"I didn't buy the amount of pencils he told me to buy."

"Dude. You SERIOUSLY need to have it out with your dad. He's worse than my Grandma Broflovski."

"Dude, no one could be worse than your Grandma Broflovski. I heard she's the biggest bitch in the whole world."

"Dude, shut the fuck up. She makes great cookies. Not as good as Granma Marsh, but cookies are cookies."

"Doesn't make her any less of a bitch," Danny points out.

"Can your dad make cookies?" I ask.

"You can't make cookies out of wheat bread and beer," Danny replies sullenly.

"You don't have anything to make cookies with?" I ask incredulously. Danny shakes his head no.

"Dude," I say. "You are SERIOUSLY being deprived. I'll see if I can get Dad or Pops to talk to Uncle Leo. You're thin as a rail, Danny! Have you not eaten anything all summer?"

"Not really. Except for what I could scrounge out of Uncle Kenny's restaurant or bum off you guys."

"Your dad sucks, Danny."

"Yeah, I know…sometimes I think he wishes he'd never had me."

"Oh come off it, of course he doesn't."

"Then how come I've heard him call me a mistake?"

"Was he drunk?"

"Is he ever sober?"

"Touché," I reply, as the bus jerks to a halt outside South Park Elementary. Corralling Katie, David, and Danny, I lead us off in the direction of our new classroom. We're on the second floor this year, Room 104. Curiously though, when we got our end-of-year report cards last year, it said "Promoted to Grade Four: Yes," but then "Teacher?" Pops said it was because the Fourth Grade teacher had retired, and the school board hadn't hired a replacement yet. So, neither of my parents knows what lies behind that door…well, no…they know WHAT, they just don't know WHO.

"Well? We goin' in or not?" Katie demands impatiently, snapping a piece of bubble gum. She's been doing that All Fucking Summer. Suffice to say, I'm annoyed with it. I don't know HOW the hell David can put up with it.

"Yeah, we're goin' in," I shoot back. "I'm just a little … apprehensive."

"Well c'mon, dude, the tardy bell rings in a couple minutes!" David insists from behind me. I reach for the knob, but just as I grasp it, it turns on its own and is swung open from the inside, revealing a guy who I would estimate to be about 45 years old, six feet tall, probably around 180 pounds, and he's DEFINITELY part French or Chinese, if that creepy mustache is any indicator.

"Ahh," he says in an airy tone. "Mr. Broflovski, Mr. Marsh, Ms. McKormick, and Mr. Stotch. Front and center, lady and gentlemen. It is time for class to begin. Welcome to Fourth Grade. I am Mister Ious."

Slightly put off, we walk to our seats, which have been arranged alphabetically across the center of the front row. Luckily for me (he certainly doesn't seem to agree), I'm seated next to David.

"Did he just say he's mysterious?" David asks me, after a second of apprehension.

"No, he said his name is Mister Ious. Besides, mysterious isn't the word I'd use to describe him…I think I'd go with either creepy or strange," I whisper back, as Mr. Ious shuts the door and proceeds to the front of the room.

"Welcome, class, to the beginning of your fourth grade year. In order to determine who knows what in this class, and what I must teach you this year, I have prepared a small pop quiz. Please clear your desks of all materials save for a number two pencil. Best of luck," he said in that same disturbingly airy tone, making his way across the room passing out quizzes. The shocked looks I see on my classmates' face tell me to be wary of this quiz. Then Mr. Ious is standing in front of my row, holding out three quizzes. Taking one for myself and passing the other two back, I give it a quick once over.

After the customary blanks for name, and date, I notice the subject matter on the quiz. "Eastern European Geopolitics of the Late Twentieth Century." What. The. Hell. I quirk an eyebrow of my own, scribbling down my name and the date as Mr. Ious announces that we "shall have ten minutes to complete the quiz. Upon completion, please turn the papers over on your desk until the class is finished, at which time I will collect your papers." God, I don't think I'll EVER get used to hearing that contraction-less, grammatically perfect voice. In fact, I think it will haunt me until the end of my days.

That thought aside, I look at the first question on the quiz.

_Who was the final General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics?_

Well hell, that's easy. Scribbling down "Mikhail Gorbachev," I move on to the next question:

_Which two revolutionary policies introduced by Secretary Gorbachev ultimately paved the way for the Collapse of said Union?_

_"_Perestroika and Glasnost," I write, proceeding to systematically answer each of the eight remaining questions before half of the allotted time is up. Turning my paper over and placing my pencil neatly atop it, I sneak a glance at the progress of both David and Katie. David is only half done, a grimace on his face, and Katie appears to be swearing under her breath at question 8 ("What was the Soviet answer to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization?"). Returning my gaze to Mr. Ious, I see a hint of interest and approval in his stare.

Another five minutes pass, and Mr. Ious calls time, ordering us to pass our quizzes up and over for collection. As he walks over to collect them from the student closest to the door, he already has a red pen uncapped, and tells us to "Discuss amongst yourselves with regards to your answers," as he walks to his desk, already marking answers incorrect on the first paper on the pile.

"Dude! What the fuck was up with that?" David asks me. "You may not think he's mysterious, Ryan, but there is DEFINITELY something wrong with him! We've never studied the Peogolitics of Eastern Europe, or whatever the fuck that shit was about. Hell, I think I only got the last one right!"

"That's cuz you like jokes that were old before our parents were born!" I shoot back. "'Complete the following statement: In America, you find party. In Soviet Russia, blank blanks blank.'"

"Party finds YOU!!" David helpfully supplies with a grin. "That's a good one. I think I'm gonna like this guy."

"David, honestly. The only good 'In Soviet Russia' joke ever made was 'Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, in Soviet Russia, poem writes you,'" Katie replies. David begins chuckling.

"In America, you watch television. In Soviet Russia, television watches YOU!!" he replies.

"In Soviet Russia, taxi calls YOU!!" from Katie.

"In Soviet Russia, Internet surfs YOU!!" – David. 

"In Soviet Russia, Stormtrooper shoots YOU!!" – Danny.

"In Soviet Russia, n00b pwns j00!" – Katie.

"In Soviet Russia, the fuck up shuts all of YOU!!" I grouse, rolling my eyes. "Try figuring out what that translates to in America."

"Jesus, Ryan, no need to be so snippy," Katie says. Just then Mr. Ious slaps a yardstick against the blackboard to attract all of our attention.

"Settle down. I have graded all of your quizzes, and I am fairly disappointed in all of you. I believe fifty percent of you failed outright, and of those that passed all but one only had six out of ten correct. Where is Mr. Ryan Marsh?" he asks, scanning the classroom.

"Here, sir," I answer, raising my hand to be sure he sees me.

"You are the closest that anyone in the class came to a perfect score, with a nine out of ten. To answer your upcoming question, you answered Question Seven, 'How many Presidents did the Russian Federation have in the 1990s?' incorrectly. Vladimir Putin did not take office until the year 2000; therefore, Boris Yeltsin was the only President of Russia in the 1990s."

"Yes sir," I say.

"However, Mr. Marsh, because of your intelligence on a subject so far beyond your grade level, you are hereby labeled the class nerd. I would suggest martial arts training to avoid the noogies, wet willies, and wedgies," he announces, causing me to flush scarlet and sink down in my seat.

"Now, class, our first lesson today is on multiplication tables. There are mathematics textbooks beneath your desks. Please retrieve your copy and turn to page fifty-six. To multiply…" The lecture goes on, but I just absently stare at my textbook's page fifty-six as I fume over Mr. Ious' audacity.

I am NOT a nerd! It's not my fault I'm the only goddamn smart one in this class…that doesn't mean he has any right to single me out and practically encourage my classmates to pick on me. I'm gonna ask Pops if he had any right to do that. He can't do that, can he? That's an egregious dereliction of duty. A teacher is supposed to foster a cooperative learning environment, where all the students will be safe and not have to worry about bullying. But he just took that second part of the directive and shot it to hell, in my eyes. And word will spread fast, too. No amount of martial arts training'll stop Jason and his little group from trying to shove me into a garbage can. Sorry, mysterious, but if you didn't know this about me, I hold grudges. I can hold them a Goddamn long time. Let's just see you TRY to get another answer out of me! Not gonna happen!

"Mr. Marsh, tell me the product of multiplying twenty-four and seven!" Mr. Ious' voice comes, shocking me out of my reverie. 24x7…would be…

"168!" I answer automatically. Wait a minute…FUCK!! Goddamnit, I wasn't supposed to answer that!! Son of a Bitch…I'll get you, Ious.

"Thank you, Mr. Marsh," he says with a sly grin on his face, copying that down on the board.

Bastard…you goddamn bastard. You just fucking wait!! I have powerful…parents. And a grandma who's a crusading superbitch! You just fucked with the wrong guy, buddy…I'll get you if it's the last Goddamn thing I do.

"Class nerd," indeed.

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: Hehe, poor Ryan. Actually, poor Mr. Ious, if he ever gets around to telling Grandma Sheila about it. That man will rue the day he was born…**

**Anyway, as always, tell me what you thought, good or bad. I'm always open for criticism or praise. I write it, you decide if you like it.**

**Phoenix II**


	13. A Hunk'a Hunk'a Burnin' Lust

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

Chapter Twelve – Hunk'a Hunk'a Burnin' Lust

**Disclaimer: Only the OCs are mine.**

**Summary: SPES is having a Fall Dance. Katie wants a date. Who will win out?**

**Author's Notes: Hurrah! Reviews are increasing! I'd love you all if you would review more…Oh, and in a bit of bad news, updates through August may be delayed until Saturday, depending on how much free time I can wrangle at nights to work on this. So far I'm a week ahead of myself, and would like to stay that way, but…who knows? We'll see, I guess…**

**-.-**

**September 18, 2019**

**South Park, CO**

**8:00 A.M.**

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

"All students are reminded that Picture Day will occur on Friday, and are expected to dress accordingly," Mr. Ious announces, reading the announcements for the day when the door creaks open and our errant classmate and friend Katie steps in. Holy damn…she looks good! I mean…she still looks like a two-cent whore in Times Square, but…I think she could probably wrestle an extra penny out of people like THAT. She's wearing a slinky purple dress, her blond hair has been put up and curled, she's got on purple eye shadow, and ruby-red lipstick. EVERYBODY in class, not just the boys, is staring at her.

"Miss McKormick." Mr. Ious, if he is impressed, clearly isn't showing it. "You are tardy. Please take your seat."

"Actually, Mr. Ious, if you'd finish the announcements, I have one of my own to make," Katie says, striking a dramatic pose. Ious, to his credit, quirks an eyebrow at the little drama queen/whore before resuming his reading.

"Finally, South Park Elementary is holding a Fall Dance next Saturday, September 30, in the Gym. All fourth and fifth-grade students are invited to attend. Dress is formal, and refreshments will be served. We hope to see you there. Ah, I see," he says, staring at Katie. "Well, Miss McKormick? Please, make your announcement."

"Thank you, Mr. Ious," Katie says, somewhat shrilly. "Because this is our first formal dance, I'm having a competition of sorts to see which boy in this class will receive the privilege of escorting me. You have until the end of the day to sign up, so I'll know who to pick from, and I'll announce the winner on Friday. Best of luck, boys!" she finishes, blowing us a kiss before taking her seat and setting a sign-up sheet on her desk.

"Right, then. Boys, if you are interested, you may sign up with Miss McKormick in between lessons. First, please take out your Mathematics worksheets that were assigned to you yesterday and pass them to the front," Mr. Ious says, and I think I detect a hint of displeasure in his tone. At least, I hope I do. That wretched skank…she's a friend and all, but…I don't think you should be holding a goddamn CONTEST to decide who takes you to a stupid Elementary School dance. Whatever happened to just giving people a cootie shot and declaring them your girlfriend? I'm not participating in this mockery of the courting system.

David, apparently, has bought the premise hook, line, and sinker. "Dude!" he whispers, tugging on my sleeve to get my attention. "Katie's lookin' GOOD! You gonna sign up?"

I scoff. "Fuck no."

"You're not? Dude, why not?"

"Cuz. She's just playing us all. Fuck that. I don't need that sort of aggravation in my life. I'm not doing it. Hell, I'm not even going to go to the dance."

"Your loss, dude," he shrugs as Mr. Ious comes around to collect the worksheets. "I'M gonna enter, and I'M gonna fucking win!"

"Whatever," I say, pulling out my math book. Sure enough, as soon as Mr. Ious gives us five minutes in between Math and English, David, along with pretty much all of the rest of the male population of the class, is crowding around Katie's desk, jostling for positioning on the sign-up sheet. I just sit back and roll my eyes at their stupidity. If they wanna be played by that skank, that's their business, but there's nothing that says I have to play along.

Of course, all the other girls in the class seize upon this, and I'm immediately flooded in notes begging me to escort their senders. To each, I scribble a polite "No, sorry," and return them. We've only got another minute, thankfully, which is not enough time for them to enquire as to why not. I doubt that will last. I'll be lucky to survive Lunch.

**-.-**

Yep…I JUST sat down at a table with Danny and David, and here comes the first of the girls that I rejected.

"Ryan!" she exclaims as she approaches our table. "Why don't you wanna go to the dance with me? Don't you think I'm pretty?" Well, I don't, really, she looks like a cow that got turned inside-out and transformed into a human, but that's not the point.

"No, Clarice, I think you look great." I'm lying out my ass, but I don't think I should tell her what I REALLY think, "but I'm not looking for a date to the dance."

"So you've already got someone? Who're you taking?" Clarice asks, gaining the rapt attention of everyone within a thirty yard radius of my table. Remarkable, considering the cafeteria's probably only thirty yards long, but…

"No, I don't have anyone. I'm not taking anyone," I say. This apparently only confuses the nitwits even more.

"But…are you going alone?" Clarice's friend Niki asks.

"No."

"But…"

"I'm not going to the Goddamned dance!" I announce, to a shocked audience.

"You're not going to the _**DANCE**_!?! Why NOT?" is all I can discern from the general babble that accompanies my outburst.

"Because I don't fucking _**WANT**_ to! God, what the fuck do you bitches care?" I shout.

"EVERYBODY goes to DANCES, Ryan, you stupid boy!" replies a girl I don't know. "Besides, you're not even ugly! You could have your pick of any girl-that's-not-Katie-McKormick in this school!"

"Whoop-dee-fucking-do," is my response. "Just because you think I'm cute doesn't mean I have to put myself on display for you."

"Are you jealous cuz Katie won't take you outright?"

"WHAT!?! No! I don't wanna date Katie…that'd be like dating my SISTER! Gross!"

"David doesn't seem to care," one girl points out.

"Am I David? No. I'm Ryan. What David wants to do is David's business, not mine."

"But you're his twin! You should know why he's different from you like that!" Somebody's been reading strange articles on the Internets again, I see…

"We're twins, not telepaths. I don't know what the fuck he's thinking, and he probably doesn't know what the fuck I'm thinking. Trust me, it's WAY better that way. Now leave me alone so I can eat my fucking lunch!" Grumbling, as a whole, they indulge me, and I take a HUGE bite out of my hamburger in frustration.

"I really don't see why you wouldn't wanna go, Ryan," David says, already done with his burger while I was bitching out little mini-skanks, and now munching on his French Fries. "I mean…we're gonna get fed, at least."

"Don't you think we're a little…I dunno, YOUNG, for this?" I reply, angrily opening my milk carton.

"Well, sorta, but…it'd be fun!" he says. "Especially when I'm the envy of every guy there when I show up with Katie on my arm!"

"Oh, would you shut the fuck up?" I scream. "I'm not fucking going, you're NOT gonna get Katie, and that's the way things are going to fucking GO!" David looks hurt, but I don't care. I'm not gonna let my lunch go cold because I have to argue with idiots.

**-.-**

The next three days go by with me barely able to restrain myself from going off on all the idiots talking about "What I'm gonna wear," "How I'm gonna accessorize it," "Where I'm getting my hair done," "Where I'm getting my nails done," and "Who's taking me." Jesus Christ…if they're this bad with a stupid Elementary School dance, imagine how bad they're gonna be when we get to High School and Prom.

Not that it's any better watching the guys. They're all just falling all over themselves trying to impress Katie. I don't think a scowl has left my face since Monday. Stupid bastards…even Danny's been enticed. Not that he has a snowball's chance in hell of winning (the dogshit thing is still the first thing on everybody's mind when they think of him), but "Pretty Woman" will make men do stupid things.

Oh, speaking of stupid things…David's just beaten up a group of guys for the honor of delivering Katie a bouquet of dandelions. Limping over there with a scratch on his forehead and a stupid-ass grin, her taking them with a giggle and a coquettish smile…God FUCKING DAMNIT! How the hell am I related to that idiot, really? Am I the only one who understands what the hell she's doing? Am I the only one who cares? This is a pretty poor showing for my gender. Just goes to show that if a woman lowers and debases herself enough, men will lower and debase themselves even more to get her. It's the "Anything you can do, I can do better" argument, only applied to idiots and idiocy.

Deepening my scowl, I hop off the swings and stalk off towards the building, making sure to kick over a first-grader's sand castle while I'm at it, allowing the scowl to become a smirk for a brief second as the kid starts bawling. Hurrah, I'm not the only one who's miserable today

**-.-**

"OK boys, today's the day!!" Katie announces Friday morning after Mr. Ious finishes the morning announcements. She's dolled herself up again, and is carrying a series of envelopes.

"OK, each day I was looking for something different. Tuesday, I was looking for a guy with good Manners. The people eliminated from consideration based on the results of that day are: Jason Harris, Marcus Black, Daniel Stotch, and Eric Smith." Four groans of regret are emitted from those four, who now realize they just wasted two days making asses of themselves. Oh well, better late than never.

"Wednesday, I was looking for a guy with good Looks. The people eliminated from consideration based on the results of that day are: Devin Young, Vinnie Valmer, and Freddie Patrick." Well, those three ARE pretty ugly…especially Freddie. Not quite Fire-put-out-with-an-ice-pick bad, but close. REALLY close. Fire put out with a shovel, maybe. I dunno.

"Thursday, I was down to three, so I decided to look at Gentlemanship. The person eliminated after yesterday is: Terry O'Flaherty. Terry's a dick. Well, at least she has SOME taste, even if the way she goes about it totally sucks ass and only makes me think less of her.

"So, we're down to two finalists. Those two finalists are: David Broflovski…and Ryan Marsh." I'm livid, and can't stop myself from erupting.

"WHAT THE HELL!?! Katie, I never signed up for your stupid, waste-of-time, whorey contest!! How the hell can I be one of the finalists if I never wanted to take you, or ANYONE, to the Goddamn dance!?!"

"Language, Mr. Marsh!" Mr. Ious admonishes me while Katie looks for a response.

"Well, Ryan, it's because of your disinterest towards the whole thing. That really appealed to me. Not to mention how ADORABLE you look with a scowl on your face, angry at the world. So, I secretly included you," she says.

"But I don't WANNA go!" I insist. "Not with you, not with anyone else! We're too young for this!"

"Well then, Ryan…" she says, opening the last envelope, "You're lucky, cuz the winner is David!"

My twin jumps up out of his desk with a celebratory shout and gives Katie a big hug, escorting her back to her desk before returning, doing a little victory dance past my desk. Oh, THIS is just fucking GREAT. Him to win this "date" was the last thing I needed. He's almost as bad with gloating and proving people wrong as I am with holding grudges. And Katie's not getting a Christmas Card from me this year. I didn't want her paying THAT sort of attention to me. I'm only TEN, for fucks' sake! I'm not old enough for dating and romance and fancy dances. I don't think I even OWN a suit…no, wait…I do, but only because Dad is insistent that I be prepared for the time – SOON, he insists – that Great-Grampa Marsh kicks the bucket.

Well. He'll be insufferable for a week, but at least I'm not gonna have to worry about wasting my next Saturday night with this stupid Goddamn dance. I can…I dunno, watch ESPN. I dunno who'll be on, but their Saturday Night College Football game usually has at LEAST a top-ten team on. So…it'll be interesting. And if it's not, there's always the History Channel. Maybe I am turning into a nerd…

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: Hehe. Poor Ryan just can't catch a goddamn break, can he?**

**Phoenix II**


	14. Any Given Sunday

Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta

Chapter Thirteen – Any Given Sunday

Disclaimer: Still nae mine.

Summary: Stan is made to form a pee-wee football team.

Author's Notes: Hellooo!! Welcome back to all of you who still read these stupid note thingies… Before we go on to the new chapter, which will feature all four of our principal boys' POVs, I'd like to plug one of my OWN stories: Stand By Me, which features AU Style. The AU? Fingerbang became a national hit.

-.-

September 30, 2019

South Park, CO

12:30 P.M.

-.-

Stan's POV

-.-

"You want me to what?" I ask Token in the Mayor's office. Yes, Token's the Mayor of South Park. Has been ever since he came back from Law School. The town decided McDaniels was finally too senile and had her committed, and Token won the special election. Kyle contemplated running against him, but he'd decided against it.

"I want you to form and coach a pee-wee football team, Stan," he repeats. "I was up in Middle Park the other day for a county-wide conference of Mayors, and I got to see their team practice, and I wondered why the hell we didn't have one of our own. You're the best football coach in the state, Stan. If anyone can do it, you can." Oh, sure, asshole, suck up to me. I still haven't forgotten how Wendy dumped me for you and turned me into an emo pussy twenty-five years ago…

"When do you want it done by?" I ask.

"Well, actually, I kinda-sorta challenged Mayor East of Middle Park to a game on Halloween," Token admits bashfully. "So…I would think tryouts next weekend, at least, give you a few weeks to drill them into a halfway decent team and teach them a few plays."

"In the middle of the District schedule!?!" I exclaim. "What, you think I can pull extra time out of my ass, Token?"

"Stan, old buddy, you're riding a seventy-two game win streak that spans six seasons now. Your players can probably run entire games from memory. I think you could spend at least one day a week with them helping you train the little tykes." Well…that's probably true. Oh, hell, of course it is. We've done it before. Just as a joke, in our season opener this year against Conifer. We won 49-3. I can spare a full day a week, and an hour out of all the others, to get my "other" team ready.

"I'm assuming you've already got flyers and commercials announcing tryouts ready to roll as soon as I say yes?"

"You know me too well, Stan."

"Alright, alright, fine, I'll do it. But only because I fucking hate Middle Park."

"Don't we all?" Token asks, and tosses me a beer.

"Touché," I say, saluting him with the can as I catch it, pop it open, and down half of it in one swig.

-.-

When I get home, I'm almost trampled by David running about the house, getting ready for some stupid dance. Ryan, I note, is watching him with an evil eye glare. I should probably ask about that. Ryan's been moody for a couple of weeks now…ever since he found out about the dance. Dunno why…I loved dances. But first…

I walk over to Kyle in the kitchen doorway, where he's observing the frantic action from, and give him a quick kiss.

"So, what'd the good Mayor Token want?" he asks slyly.

"A pee-wee football team to field against Middle Park on Halloween," I reply, wrapping my arms around him.

"Really? And he wanted the best coach in the state to be in charge of it?"

"His words more or less exactly," I confirm.

"When're tryouts?" he asks.

"Next weekend."

"That only gives you…"

"Three weeks, I know. But I'm gonna have my Cows take time out of our practice schedule to help me out."

"But you're in the middle of your District schedule!" Kyle protests.

"So? We can play games from memory. Remember the season opener against Conifer?" I ask, and he nods. "Did I call a play the whole game?"

"No…" he confirms. "How much practice time is it going to eat up, though? You've got Middle Park coming up yourself, remember."

"One full day, and an hour out of each of the other days. I trust my players, Ky. We can beat any team in the state."

"Gee, nice to know I married someone without any ego at all," he comments wryly.

"Gee, nice to know I married someone who has so much confidence in my abilities!" I return.

"Seriously though…you want Ryan and David to play?"

"That's the plan, yeah. I'll have even more time to work with them than I would with the rest of the team, and they can work plays and drills out with the rest of the team during recess," I confirm. "I was gonna go ask Ryan about it now…but I think I should hold off till tomorrow on David."

"Yeah, that'd probably be best," Kyle agrees. "He's…in a bit of a hurry. He's got a big date with Katie tonight, and he wants to look good and be all gentlemanly. Ryan's apparently not going out of protest for the way Katie chose her date."

"Oh, is that why he's so moody lately?" Kyle shrugs.

"I dunno, that's my best guess."

"Well, I'm gonna go see if I can cheer him up," I say with a grin, and walk out to the living room to sit next to my son on the couch. He's watching Nebraska pound the hell out of Kansas on ABC.

"Hey, Ryan, can I talk to you for a sec?" I ask, putting my hand on his shoulder to catch his attention.

"Sure, Dad," he says, muting the TV and turning to face me. "What's up?"

"I'm forming a pee-wee football team because Mayor Black made a wager with Mayor East of Middle Park for a Halloween game. I just wanted to ask if you think you might be game for trying out."

"Am I going to really have a choice?" he asks. God, sometime's he's just so perceptive…

"Well, I can say that I would definitely PREFER that you did, but ultimately, it's your time and your choice."

"I'm glad you respect me like that, Dad," he says. "Count me in. When're tryouts?"

"Next Saturday, at the football field."

"Are you gonna make David come too?"

"Yeah. Do you wanna hear the plan?"

"Can I suggest modifications?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Then yeah, hit me with it, Dad."

"OK then. The plan is, whatever positions you two end up getting, I'm going to have you and David work with me a little extra at night on the game plan, and go over it with the rest of the team during recess at school. That way we can optimize what little practice time we get because you'll all know what you're supposed to be doing."

"And the optimization is necessary because of the three-week turnaround between the start of practice and the game itself," Ryan states.

"Right."

"How much time are we going to spend practicing, with your High School schedule and all?"

"Well, I'm going to take time out of my High School practices to have me and the team work with you and your team to get ready really quick. They all know my coaching scheme, probably better than I do, and having all of them on hand will really make it easier for you all to learn the ropes. An hour every day for three days a week, and a full day probably on Tuesdays, will be extracted from my normal practices, to work with the pee-wee team."

"And we're playing Middle Park?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck Middle Park. Stuck up sonsabitches…" he mutters.

"You wanna go throw the ball around some, help me with a little scouting out of the people you know and what you think they might be capable of?" I ask.

"Will it get me out of the house and away from David's stupid preparations?" Ryan asks.

"Well…yeah," I say. He grins.

"Dear God, what're we waiting for? Let's go!!"

-.-

Three Weeks Later

-.-

Ryan's POV

-.-

"No, Goddamnit, that's NOT how it goes!" I exclaim. "I run the slant route across the middle, Jamie goes long, and Danny buttonhooks! You've got it all mixed around, David!!"

"Ryan. Dad said, 'Run SLB O 5.' Option Five is JAMIE runs slant, DANNY goes long, and YOU buttonhook!" David argues.

"Nuh-uh!" I exclaim, and David and I begin shouting until Pops, with a smirk, drops a yellow flag into the middle of our huddle and blows his whistle.

"DELAY OF GAME, WHITE!" he shouts.

"David, what the hell's going on out there!?!" Dad shouts from the sidelines.

"Ryan doesn't agree about O 5!" David calls back.

"GET OVER HERE!" Dad looks angry. And well he should…we've got a little more than a week before we have to suit up and take the field against Middle Park, who is vulnerable to passing plays. Unfortunately, David can't keep his passing plays straight!!

"OK, Ryan, what's SLB O 5?" Dad asks. Because I'M the one with the photographic memory, I know the entire playbook by heart. I'm right.

"I run slant, Jamie goes long, and Danny buttonhooks," I recite smugly.

"David, what's SLB O 5?" Dad asks.

"JAMIE runs slant, DANNY goes long, and RYAN buttonhooks!" he exclaims, exasperated.

"No," Dad says. "Ryan's right on this one. You're thinking of O 4. You just wasted thirty seconds and lost five yards on that. Go out and run it again."

David glares at me as we re-buckle our chin straps and jog back out to the huddle. I've been trying to work with him to memorize the playbook over the past few weeks, but he's been sort of hostile to me…like sports are his territory alone, and I'm supposed to be holed up in my room playing with graphing calculators and things.

"Alright, SLB O 5 on two, ready, BREAK!" David announces, and we trot up to the line of scrimmage as marked by Pops. David crouches under Jason, who's playing center, and I line up in the tight end slot, inside of Danny, who's the flanker. Jamie's the wideout on the other side of the field.

"Fiver, Fiver, hut hut!" David calls, and the D-Line surges forward as I push off my coverage and sprint downfield, then abruptly cut inside twenty yards from the line of scrimmage. I watch David look first to Jamie, who's sprinting downfield, twenty yards ahead of me but double-covered, and then to Danny, who's gone five yards ahead of me but reversed course and headed back towards the line, also still covered, before looking to wide-open me and letting the ball fly.

Just as I practiced with both Dad and David, I reach up my hands to snatch the ball out of the air, but instead of flying into them, it instead drills me in the side of the helmet, knocking me to the turf.

"GOD FUCKING DAMNIT DAVID!" Dad screams from the sidelines. "YOUR BROTHER'S HEAD ISN'T GOING TO CATCH THE GODDAMN BALL!! EITHER AIM FOR HIS HANDS, LIKE I TAUGHT YOU, OR I'LL FIND ME ANOTHER GODDAMN QUARTERBACK!!"

-.-

After practice, Pops takes both of us aside. "Alright, you two, listen up. I want to know what the hell's going on between you, and I want to know right the fuck now. This is very important to your Dad, and if you fuck this up for him because of some stupid spat the two of you are having, so help me, I will rip your balls off myself!!" David just gapes, but I've heard about Pops' temper. You do NOT want to fuck with him.

"I don't have any problems with David," I answer, honestly. "I'm doing what Dad told me to do and help him and the rest of the team get on board with the game plan and the plays and stuff."

"David?" Pops asks. "What's your problem with Ryan?"

"Sports are MY thing! He's never played with me and the guys at recess before this! He's horning in on my territory!!" David exclaims. "It's only a matter of time before he tries to take Katie away from me too!"

"Oh my fucking GOD, dude, get OVER yourself!" I exclaim in frustration. "For the LAST GODDAMN TIME, I have NO romantic interests WHATSOEVER in Katie McKormick. If you want to put up with her, that's your goddamn business. But all I want to do is play football and beat the hell out of Middle Park. Now, can you? I promise to go back to my swingsets and graph paper after this is finished."

He glares at me, under pressure from Pops. "Sure, Ryan. I'm sorry for being such a dick. I know you're just trying to help me and be a good brother and stuff."

"There, now wasn't that easy?" Pops asks, rising up from his crouch. "Now c'mon, your Dad's waiting at the car."

"Hey, Ry?" David asks as we fall into step behind Pops. "Can you help me out with the passing codes again? I keep forgetting which one goes with which routes…" He looks ashamed.

"Sure, dude. What are supergenius brothers for, anyway?" I reply with a grin. He gives me a good-natured shrug as we approach the car, and we both have a good laugh. David's no academic slouch, but I AM smarter than him…

-.-

One Week Later

-.-

David's POV

-.-

Whatever dumb son of a bitch that told Dad Middle Park was vulnerable to passing plays fucking lied his ass off. Their coverage is three times worse than anything I had in practice, even when we ran that scrimmage against the sixth-graders! The only target I've had with any reliability is Ryan. I know he'd deny it to his grave, but there's SOME sort of subliminal bond-thing between us. I swear he knows exactly where I'm going to throw the ball before I ever release it, and he's been busting his ass to make sure he's there to meet it. Even so, for the three touchdowns I've thrown to him so far, their defense has still picked me off twice, snatching it practically right out of Ryan's hands, much to his displeasure as we jog to the sidelines to be replaced by the defense.

We're up 35-28 with only a couple of minutes left in the game. Dad is rocking back and forth, along with the linebacker who's Captain of the High School's Defense and serving as the defensive coordinator for this game, and shouting out encouragement to our haggard classmates.

"Three-Four Shift!" Tony shouts. Tony's the linebacker. Dad says he's gonna get a big offer from Colorado. He's been over a lot this week, talking about strategy and things with Dad. Ryan and I got to offer advice, cuz when it gets down to it, we know the players they're talking about better than they do, but they know the strategies and things.

The Middle Park Quarterback goes under center, and takes a quick snap, dropping back…oh, fuck, he's got a receiver wide open! Danny's supposed to be covering that guy…maybe double duty is taking its toll on him. He's still not getting a lot to eat, but at least Dad says his dad's more sober since the bartender stopped serving him until he pays his tab, which means he has to get a job, which means he's making money, which means that Danny occasionally gets Instant Ramen to eat instead of bread and air.

"DANNY!" I shout. "PICK UP YOUR MAN!!" Jerking his head in response, my emaciated friend sprints downfield after his target as the ball flies from the quarterback's hand towards the boy Danny is chasing down. It's gonna be a close one…it's gonna be a DAMN close one! C'mon, Danny…get there! Get there, Danny!!

YES! Broken up pass! They're gonna have to punt!

"Ryan, Jamie, get the receiving team in formation!" Dad calls, as I put my helmet on in preparation to go back onto the field and maybe run one or two series before I'm called to end the game by kneeling.

-.-

Kyle's POV

-.-

The punt, from what Stan's taught me about football, is beautiful. It tumbles end-over-end, hanging in the air JUST long enough for Ryan to be surrounded by tacklers when he hauls it in. He doesn't get very far from the twenty yard line, which means David's going to have a bit of work to do. I know Stan's not going to expect them to score again, but he probably WOULD like something more than a single touchdown. One mistake from David or a receiver would send this game into overtime. It's already gonna take all night to calm him down and relax him from this…

Oh! There goes David, trotting onto the field with the offense, Ryan out as a tight end…it's so strange how our kids are so similar to us in looks, but our complete opposites personality-wise. David's the jock I never was, and Ryan's the academic Stan never could be. Like somebody cloned us but got the personalities switched, really. It's damn strange…

OK…Stan's decided to use a running series to try and eat up the clock. Well, it's working…another twenty seconds and we can go home, and I can start work on de-stressing my poor husband. He's going to lose more of that wonderfully soft hair of his…wait, why's the whistle blowing? The game's not over yet…oh, wait, Middle Park called a time out. Well, it's third down and short on our…twenty-nine. I bet they're gonna try something sneaky to try and get a last-second touchdown and send the game into overtime…I WISH I could get into contact with Stan!

I'd call his cell, but there's no way he'd answer it in the middle of a game. He's too professional for that, even if it IS a pee-wee game, which tends to be a little more relaxed than the CHSAAwhen it comes to taking cell phone calls during the game. I'd run down to the sidelines, but the huddles are breaking up and I'm in the middle of the bleachers.

Well…I guess all I can do is watch and hope whatever they're planning fails. Hmm…interesting. David's calling out a passing play. But why would Stan go with a passing play with less than thirty seconds on the clock? Maybe he just wants David to get rid of the ball before he can be sacked. Yeah…that must be it. No other explanation for it.

"HUT!" shouts David, and I can tell instantly this won't end well. Especially because NONE of the receivers are able to get beyond the line of scrimmage, brutally knocked down, and, Oh FUCK! They're out cold! Their little heads bounced when they hit the turf! And there's NO one between David and the same fate! Oh, God!! Oh God Oh God Oh GOD!!

He manages to draw his arm back and make forward motion just as I hear the VERY audible crunch that accompanies a series of savage hits that drive David to the turf as time runs out and four yellow flags fly.

Even as the referee announces the extensive list of penalties on the play, I'm working my way out of the bleachers and running for the field, just like Butters, Stan, and the trainer.

"The following penalties were conducted on the play," the ref announces. "Unsportsmanlike conduct, number 53 black. Unsportsmanlike conduct, number 24 black. Unsportsmanlike conduct, number 73 black. Unsportsmanlike conduct, roughing the passer, number 66 black. Each infraction is a fifteen-yard penalty. Time expires. South Park wins the game."

Scowling, I run ahead of the training staff, and even Stan, to drop to David's side as he groggily wakes up.

"Wha' 'appened?" he asks.

"You got sacked as time ran out, but you made forward motion with your throwing arm enough to incur a penalty against Middle Park. You won."

"Good," he says, satisfied, before passing out again. I rise, full of silent fury, and walk over to where Stan is having similar words with Ryan. Seeing me coming, he rises and turns to face me.

"It's not my fault!" he immediately proclaims. That doesn't stop me from punching him hard in the shoulder.

"Be lucky that's not your face. My boy's unconscious and I have no idea if he has a concussion because he won't stay awake long enough for me to check. Consider your Kyle-time for a week revoked," I spit, pivoting on my heel and walking back to David, ignoring the objections of the trainer and removing his helmet, picking him up and walking to the car, leaving a gaping Stan behind me to follow with Ryan.

It's a silent car ride, and an even quieter week.

-.-

Author's Notes: Phew!! That was a long one!! Poor Stan though, he lost a week's worth of Kyle-time!! I think I'd rather lose a stupid football game than my lover's trust and a week of sex, and I think Stan would too…but still, it's a pretty effective punishment from Kyle, huh?


	15. MMORPG

Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta

Chapter Fourteen – Massive Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Gay-me

Disclaimer: Not Mine!!!

Summary: Ryan discovers gaming on the Internets.

Author's Notes: Wow. Getting buried again, I see. Truly buried. And yet, there's still people who are alerted to this fic and not reviewing. C'mon, folks, throw me a freakin bone nyah!!

-.-

February 27, 2020

South Park, CO

4:30 P.M.

-.-

Ryan's POV

-.-

Walking back into my room and throwing my bag over by my bed, I walk over to my computer and turn it on from sleep mode. When I pull up my homepage, it tells me about a massive new update to a game called "World of Warcraft." I've heard of it, but I've never played it. Clicking the link, I'm soon pulling up Wikipedia to try and make sense of what I'm reading.

After that, I'm running down to Dad's office.

"DAD! DAD!!" I shout, nearly running past the room and having to grab onto the doorframe to pull myself back and shoot into the office.

"What is it, Ryan?" Dad asks, bewildered as I shove him aside and go to his computer and pull up the news article.

"Can you get me this? Can you can you please?" I beg, jumping up and down in typical childish behavior and pointing at the screen. After I calm down and allow him to see what exactly it is I'm begging for. I see a look of recognition cross his face, and the next thing I know, he's grabbed his car keys and is dragging me towards the door.

"Alright, sure. Just make sure you don't play it 21 hours a day and get fatter than a blue whale, alright?" he says, driving us off towards the nearest electronics store.

-.-

When we come back, I'm in software up to my ears. Dad apparently saw fit to make sure I got everything RELATED to World of Warcraft, including the basic starter software, and EVERY expansion pack of software they had, and various gaming manuals, spare keyboards, and mice.

David and Pops stare at us in awe as we come through the door.

"Stan?" Pops asks. "What's going on?"

"Ryan wants to start playing World of Warcraft. The new expansion they released last week looks pretty interesting. So far, all of the user reviews online are insanely positive. Almost makes me want to dig out my old avatar," Dad replies.

"…'Kay…" Pops says, while David just stares at me funny.

"What's World of Warcraft?"

"You've never heard of World of Warcraft?" That's strange, he's MUCH more of a gamer than I am.

"Is it anything like RuneScape?"

"Err…yeah, only about a million times better!" Dad exclaims.

"Yeah. RuneScape? They still use Java in their coding, don't they?" Pops asks.

"Hey! They started using Flash in the v4.0 Beta!" David protests.

"Whatever. Warcraft has 3D graphics, and it's JUST like a normal video game, only you play it on the computer!"

"I dunno…" David says, still sounding hesitant about giving up HIS little MMORPG.

"C'mon, dude, we'll find out what it's like together. Maybe Dad'll buy YOU the game if you like it enough," I say, switching enough sacks to my other hand to grab him and drag him towards the stairs. "Besides. I need somebody to read me the manuals."

He frowns. "I'm not gonna be your stupid manual-reader."

"I'll let you make your own avatar and take a turn."

"Why can't I just play on yours? I'll already know what you're doing…I'm gonna be telling YOU, remember?"

"…Oh yeah," I reply, stupidly. "OK, you can play on mine."

"Sweet. Let's go then!" he says. "We've got a lot of installing to do. And what does Dad think you'll need five spare keyboard and mouse sets for?"

"Apparently there's a lot of typing and clicking," I say with a shrug. "He said something about crumbs and sticky energy drinks too…"

"Have you ever stopped to think about how strange our parents are?" he asks.

"Not really. But they sound like they know what they're talking about with this game…maybe they've played it?"

"It's cool, isn't it?" he asks.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Then no. No way. Parents don't do cool stuff. They're PARENTS, for Christ's sake!"

"Maybe it WASN'T cool when they played it!" I shoot back. "Y'know, like sweatervests and emokids."

"Oh," he says, dumbly. "Wait. Sweatervests and Emokids are cool?"

"Yeah dude! C'mon, haven't you noticed how Katie's all over that new Emokid who's always tossing that jet-black hair outta his eyes and always wearing those plaid sweatervests that clash with just about EVERY OTHER piece of clothing in existence?"

"How could I not?" he grouses, and I get the sense that he wanted more out of that dance than he got. Which was, namely, a kiss on the cheek and a kick in the nuts. Oh. And a glass of punch and a cookie. But that doesn't really count, everybody got those.

-.-

One Week Later

-.-

I'm kinda tired. I mean…I know I promised Dad I wouldn't play Warcraft 21 hours a day and get all fat…but…I AM playing it 12 hours a day and I will confess that I HAVE put on a few extra pounds. Not that they've noticed…I've just started wearing a couple of David's shirts, cuz they're bigger than mine. So they hide my extra weight better. So that Dad doesn't notice I'm not really honoring my promise. But there's just SO MUCH to do! I HAVE to stay on as long as I do. It's just…all the quests…and the work it takes to level up, so I can DO the quests…how do you expect me to be able to sleep?

Speaking of quests…it appears someone in Azeroth needs the assistance of a level 60 Archmage.

-.-

Stan's POV

-.-

"Kyle, I'm worried," I confess, after looking in on Ryan after being distracted from sleep by the clattering of his keyboard.

"What, it's finally gotten to you?" he asks, somewhat snidely. He's been complaining to me about not being able to sleep because of Ryan's activities for the past week.

"Very funny. Yes, OK, it's gotten to me. What do you think we should do about it?"

"'We'?" he asks, incredulously. "Oh no, not 'we,' Stan. You got him involved in this, you figure out how to stop him."

"But he's gotten up to level sixty! That's the level that bastard who kept killing US was at when the four of us fought him!!"

"And?" Kyle asks. "What do you have that he doesn't? That's especially deadly to mage characters?"

"The Sword! Oh yeah…OK, maybe a little lesson is in order to put Ryan in his place," I say, trying to figure out how to fight me. A little white lie would be best, I think.

-.-

"Ryan," I say during the drive to school, "I've been talking to a few people about your progress in Warcraft."

"Oh?" he replies. "Really?"

"Somebody wants to challenge you. His avatar name is LovesToSpooge, and he wants you to meet him on the edges of Azeroth for a fight at four."

"Really?" Ryan asks. "He's got a fight, then? What level and type is he?"

"Level 57 Paladin," I reply off the top of my head. I had to login last night to check, but I think it'll be a pretty even match.

"Pfft, a Paladin? Easy work," he scoffs. "I'll be done with him in five minutes." Cocky much, son? You have know idea what LTS is packing. The battle will be done in five minutes, but it's NOT going to go the way you think.

-.-

As soon as we get home from school, I watch Ryan run upstairs to boot up his computer and log in to Warcraft. I, in turn, walk into my office, login to Warcraft and don my TeamSpeak headset, walking to Azeroth looking for Ryan.

Yep, there the cocky bastard is…a female Elven Archmage. Hmm, where have I seen a character like THAT before…?

_SPCOD0m1n4t0r challenges you to a duel._ I accept, and am immediately hit by a fire blast.

Oh, wise move, Ryan. Unfortunately…you're about to get pwned.

Grinning to myself, I pull up my inventory hotbar and swap out the regular sword I was wielding for the Sword of 1000 Truths.

-.-

Ryan's POV

-.-

I sputter as I see my opponent's weapon change. That weapon doesn't exist! It's Warcraft legend! No way a mere level 57 Paladin could be OWNING it, much less WIELDING it…against ME!!

The attack drains all my Mana. As I stand unable to attack, he switches back to the normal sword and stabs me repeatedly, draining my hitpoints.

_Do you have TeamSpeak?_ He asks.

_Yeah…_ I reply as my HP gets down to one and he stops his attack.

Kay…

"Have you learned your lesson?" I hear in my ear.

"DAD!?!" I exclaim.

"Oh yeah. And YES, it IS the sword of 1000 truths. As well as a long story. Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes…I think…"

"And?"

"MMORPGs are bad for your health and should only be played recreationally."

"Good boy. Now, finish up your quest. Your Pop'll have dinner ready in an hour or so."

"OK, Dad."

"Oh, and you might want to see a priest or something to make sure you get healed."

"Yeah, thanks for that."

"No problem, son," Dad replies.

_LovesToSpooge_

-.-

Author's Notes: Heh. Well, it's quite obvious that I don't play Warcraft, ne? Now, RuneScape, on the other hand… . Sorry that this chapter is so short…

Phoenix II


	16. Onwards and Upwards

Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta

Chapter Fifteen – Onwards and Upwards

Disclaimer: If I owned South Park, I'd fucking LOVE my job. I don't, so I don't.

Summary: Summer Break begins.

Author's Notes: Holy shit…I'm sorry about this. Work and the Fourth ate me alive this week. I've had almost no time to work on this, and it's highly probable that the writing in this chapter will be reflective of this.

-.-

May 15, 2020

South Park, CO

2:55 P.M.

-.-

Ryan's POV

-.-

"I would just like to let you all know that I am thoroughly impressed with the improvements you have made in your knowledge of world affairs this year," Mr. Ious tells us, holding another stack of the same quizzes we had been given on the first day.

"I am pleased to inform you that every single one of you passed the quiz this time, with no one less than a seventy percent. And yet, even with this increase in scores, we only had one perfect score – our class nerd, Mister Ryan Marsh. Congratulations, Mister Marsh. Coincidentally, you also had the highest grade average in the class, followed closely by Miss McKormick, Mister Broflovski, and Mister Stotch. All of you have passed this year, and it has given me a great amount of pride to affix my signature to the certificates signifying your passing."

Yeah, yeah, yeah…shut up already, teach. There's only a single minute of class left, and I'll be damned if I'm going to hang around your goddamn stuffy classroom ONE second longer than I have to.

"I understand that it is tradition at this school for students to count down the final seconds of their years. I would just like to congratulate you all once more. Mister Marsh, you may begin."

"TEN!" I shout, standing on my desk to better see the clock.

"NINE!" the rest of the class joins me.

"EIGHT!"

"SEVEN!"

"SIX!!"

"FIVE!"

"FOUR!"

"THREE!!!!"

"TWO!!!!!!"

"ONE!!"

We're fuckin done! I cheer as I leap from my seat and run out the fucking door, beating it down to the end of the hallway before I even stop to look for David, Katie, and Danny, who are close behind me.

"So, what're you guys gonna do this summer?" I ask as we all head downstairs.

"Starve," Danny says morosely. "I just lost two meals per day."

"I thought your dad was feeding you now?"

"Once. I get a slice of bread and a tiny can of baked beans and a bottle of water for supper every night and am told to 'count myself lucky.'"

"What about your dad? He doesn't look as thin as you," I point out.

"He's not. HE eats steak every night."

"Danny, your dad's a real asshole. He needs to get laid or something," Katie says.

"Your dad won't, and the only two other gay guys in this town are Ryan and David's parents," Danny says.

"And they're TAKEN!" David says. "What about the clubs?"

"Too goddamn stingy to buy gas to go to Denver."

"Is there any hope beyond Uncle Kenny?" I ask, slinging an arm around Danny's shoulder, as a gesture of friendship and solidarity.

"Well, when he gets really drunk, he sits at the table and cries over pictures over a guy he calls Eric…" Danny says. "But I don't think he's around…"

"I dunno…maybe Dad or Pops can help find him?" I ask David, who nods, confirming that we'll ask them when we get home.

"You wanna come over?" I ask Danny. "We're having chicken tonight. Pops says it's an old family recipe…and that there's sixteen more herbs and spices than KFC. Dad calls him 'the General' whenever he makes it."

"Why's he do that?" Katie asks.

"I dunno…cuz sixteen is more than the Colonel has, so…General is more than Colonel, I guess," I say with a shrug. "All I know is, every Friday night their room gets really loud until one or so in the morning. It gets kinda hard to sleep."

"You know why, right?" Katie says.

"No, but I suppose you're gonna tell us anyway," I say, with nowhere near my usual venom where Katie's perverted comments are concerned.

"Duh, dumbass. Your parents are totally doing it."

"Gee, thanks, I really wanted to spoil my weekend thinking about THAT," I say with an eye-roll.

"You're perfectly welcome, ass master," Katie glibly retorts, before flouncing off, attracting David's stare until she flounces into Aunt Bebe's car.

"Oi, lovesick puppy, jump back to it!" I say, smacking him upside the head and jolting him out of his pussy love fantasies involving Katie, a tree, and a stupid flying baby with a bow and arrow.

"Ow, god damnit!" he says, returning the smack. "Danny, you comin' with us?" he asks, looking for Uncle Leo's car along with Danny.

"He's not here, fellas. I guess I AM coming with you, then. Is that your Dad's car?" he asks, pointing to the shiny, expensive vehicle.

"Yeah, that's the new one. Come on, Ryan, Danny," he says, shouldering his bag and heading for the car.

"Shotgun!" he calls as we head to follow.

"God damnit!!" I reply, dragging Danny along after me. "You bastard!! Wait, where's Pops?"

"HS had a half day today, remember?" David calls back.

"No!"

"Well, they did!!"

"Gee, thanks for the heads up, asshole!" I reply as Danny and I get into the backseat.

"Hey boys," Dad says, putting the car into gear and heading home. "Danny, Butters still not feeding you right?"

"He started giving me beans a couple weeks ago…that's something, I guess," Danny says.

"He's still eating steak every day himself, I gather?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Marsh."

"I don't know WHAT it's gonna take to get that stupid son of a bitch to start taking proper care of you…" Dad says, concentrating on the road, and so not looking at us.

"Katie says he just needs to get laid," David supplies from the passenger seat, eliciting a chuckle from Dad.

"Well, I'd believe that…I don't think he's gotten any since he knocked your Mom up, Danny," Dad says. "More of his own goddamn fault than anybody else's…it's not OUR fault the tightwad won't go to any of the good gay clubs in Denver."

"Well…I think it's cuz he already has somebody he wants," Danny says.

"Well, he knows Kenny's off-limits!"

"Not Uncle Kenny!" I interject.

"Me?"

"No."

"Kyle?"

"No."

"Then who, for fuck's sake?"

"I don't know!" Danny whines. "All I know is, whenever he gets REALLY drunk, he drags out old photo albums and cries about somebody named Eric!"

"Eric?" Dad asks. He sounds like he may have a clue…but I'm not quite sure it would be wise to press him.

David, apparently, either doesn't think the same way or didn't stop to think at all. Knowing my brother, more likely the latter.

"Did you know an Eric, Dad?" he asks.

"Yeah. But sure as hell wouldn't cry over him…and if Butters would, then he's a lot less sane than I've ever had reason to suspect."

"What happened to him?"

"He's serving a life sentence in the Supermax prison in Florence for hate-related attempted murder."

"You mean he's a skinhead?"

"That's just about the only thing he's NOT. Anti-Semitic, anti-ginger, anti-Muslim … basically, a hyper-bigoted lardass whose only talents in life lay in manipulation and eating. He was REALLY good at the second."

"Who'd he try to kill?" David asks.

"And why was it a life sentence?"

"Your Pops, and because he'd had a prior conviction for hate crimes. So, he's in there for life, and THAT decision is pretty much the only reason I have any continuing faith in our country's legal system."

"He tried to kill Pops!?!" I ask, incredulous. "When was this?"

"Waaaaay before you two were born, don't worry. Hell, the scars aren't even visible anymore…"

"Those ones on his arms? They are so!"

"No, not the ones on his arms. They were on his chest. Do any of you know what a swastika is?"

"A Hindu symbol for prosperity, or something, bastardized by the Nazi regime of Adolf Hitler in Germany in the 1930s," I answer.

"And?" Dad asks, hoping I can make the link.

"And…the Nazi regime was responsible for the Holocaust, the senseless murder of millions of Jews, gypsies, and homosexuals because Hitler was an insane motherfucker."

"And?"

"Pops is a Jew…and a homosexual. Oh. OH! Oh Jesus, that's TERRIBLE!!" I exclaim, having to cover my now-gaping open mouth in horror.

"Well, we didn't KNOW he was a homosexual yet. Maybe HE did, but he always ripped on him for being a Jew long before he ever started calling either of us pussy fagboys, so that was the primary motivation for his attack. But anyway…yeah, not anyone I'd cry about. But then again, Butters always has had a bit of a … history with him. Started from the time he put Butters' penis in his mouth and showed the entire school a picture of it when we were nine, and then the time we convinced your Dad to fake his death and dress up like a girl in order to retrieve a secret girl device for predicting the future…really, too many to go into," Dad says as he pulls into the driveway.

"You boys just go and play videogames, we'll call you down when supper's ready. And Danny, you're spending the night."

"But…but…I'm not allowed to spend the night at anyone's house! I'll get grounded!!"

"Jesus, he grounds you too? I'm going to SHOOT his parents, I swear to God…" Dad mumbles. "I'll give him a call and let him know. You won't get in any trouble, I promise."

"Well…OK then," Danny says, hopping out of the backseat and coming inside with David and me.

"C'mon, you guys!" David says, dragging us upstairs. "I just got the new shooter game for WiiThrii!!"

And so, in order to get control of the second Wiimote without having to wrestle Danny (not that'd be a challenge, but still…), I shove him against the wall and chase my brother up the stairs.

God, I love summer…

-.-

Author's Notes: Just out of idle curiosity, I'd like to let you know that my work on Ch. 29 is giving Ryan an ENTIRELY different reason to love summer.

Again, sorry for the crap-tastic-ness of this chapter. It got away from both ME and the plan. glares at it Stupid fucking thing…

Oh well…at least I know NEXT week's will be HELLA good. I promise.


	17. OMG It's T3h Pr0n!

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta ch. 16**

_Chapter Sixteen – OMG it's t3h pr0n!!_

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately, not even the porn. Very. Unfortunately.**

**Summary: Oh, come on. Like it's not completely obvious…**

**Author's Notes: Hehehe…OK. From nyah on out, most of the story will be in Ryan's POV. This is the start of the second half of the story, and the start of three five-chapter story arcs. I'd also like to warn you that ****THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS REFERENCE TO MALE MASTURBATION****. Just in case you'd rather skip over that part. But if you would, why are you reading a fic about the development of the kids of Stan and Kyle?**

**-.-**

**March 15, 2023**

**South Park, CO**

**4:00 P.M.**

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

School blows. Specifically, Eighth Grade English under the tutelage of Missus Gobleshevski. She's a fucking Nazi, I swear to God. She's the only teacher that's not giving me an A. Well, her and Mister Doldrummann, the P.E. teacher. But I'm terrible at P.E. So that's not a surprise. It's not TOO much damage to my GPA.

But Mrs. G … well … as far as I can tell, she's only picking on me because she's a fucking hippie. Wanna know why I think that? Our most recent essay assignment was to write three pages about a topic of our choosing from the 1960s. I chose to analyze the socio-political impact of the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

Hippie-Nazi-Bitch gives me a B-, and in her comments at the end writes "_Very good analysis, Ryan, however, your narration tone is rather dry. Try using more active verbs and voice. A more exciting topic might be a better subject until you enter graduate school._"

Read: Hippie-Bitch was disappointed because I didn't write an essay about her grandparents' drug habits and sex lives like every other student in the class, who know that hippie-worship equals good grades with Mrs. G. Is it such a fucking crime for me to want to earn a decent grade on my own merit?

I sigh, entering my room and locking it behind me, booting up my computer. I'm bored as hell, and stressed out. WoW isn't going to solve THIS problem…all that really would do is create MORE stress. I mean, all the quests should theoretically only take me five seconds, but there's always a bunch of fucking noobs who want me to do shit for them, which seem to eternally delay my completions.

So, I need something else to do. I guess I'll just check my e-mail before logging on to a multiplayer shooter game. I need to kill some computerized Germans with some antique weapons. THAT'll release some anger and aggression.

Alright. Hotmail. password swamp09.

Hmm…junk survey, junk survey, lame ass chain letter e-mail from Danny (or, rather, about praying for your friends and shit like that. Like usual, I delete it as well.

But…this new link, I've never seen before. Something about "H0rn3y 18yo blondez do studz liv3! 4 U!!"

Hmm. Well, it IS in leet…it can't be too bad. I click on it to find something referring to horses, black people, and unsuspecting fathers, along with a link. Still intrigued, I click the link.

Oh.

Oh my dear God.

That's…

It's…

I'm watching…

Porn.

Pornography.

And…despite hearing the priest lecture me from the pulpit about the sins contained in the production and viewing of pornography multiple times…it's HOT.

REALLY hot.

I feel funny.

Like…tingly. Y'know…down there. Like I've got to take a piss really bad. I'm stiff.

I've heard Uncle Kenny talking about this … with somewhat increasing frequency over the past year. About how it was "about damn time" that Dad and Pops allow David and me to "experience the wonder" that Uncle Kenny believes pornography to be.

And, really…what does the priest know about porn? He's sworn to think that hugs that last longer than ten seconds constitutes a sexual advance. HE'S never seen any porn. HE'S never had sex. Where the fuck does he get off lecturing ME about what the hell I can and cannot do on my own time, in my own room, on my own computer, and to my own body. It's not I came into the world wearing a name tag that said "Property of God the Creator, Father of Adam, Noah, Moses and Jesus the Christ, Creator of the Heavens and the Earth, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, forever and ever, hallelujah, hosanna, Amen." At least, I don't THINK I did. Wouldn't that've been in my baby photos? Yeah, it would've. And it's not. So I didn't. There, problem solved. I can watch porn and do whatever my body wants.

Unfortunately, this stiffening is causing a problem. It's pressing my dick into the computer desk. And that hurts. So I move a hand down there to move it while I scoot my chair back to give myself room.

And THAT…feels good. I shudder as a shock passes through my system when my hand touches my erection through the fabric of my jeans. I decide to try something out. It's a little hot in here, but first I need to lock the door. I don't know about Uncle Kenny, but I'm pretty sure I don't want anybody walking in on me while I do this. Making my way across the room quickly, I fully close the door and turn the deadbolt shut. It would take a very determined person to get into my room now. I'm the only one with a key to the deadbolt to my room, and have a spare hidden in a little niche in the wall molding, just in case I lock myself out.

Certain that I'm safe, I begin removing articles of clothing. First to go his my shirt, revealing a sweaty chest, and this is from just looking at a still picture. I haven't clicked on the trailer yet…

But first, I unbutton, unzip, and kick off my jeans, leaving me clad in only boxers, with my erection straining at the fabric. Oh, what the hell? Why not go all the way here? Quickly going to shut my blinds, I remove my boxers, leaving me naked and staring at the porn site on my computer.

Sitting back down, I click to play the trailer, and as the new window pops up, showing a woman with all the right attributes – blonde, slim, big-tittied – start to service a guy who quite likely spent ten minutes in his trailer (and being a porn stud, the trailer likely doubles as his actual home) with a penis pump. Too veiny.

I get that tingly feeling again, and I'm prompted to divert my left hand to touch it once more as my right hand clicks out of the now completed trailer (why the fuck is it only thirty seconds? That's not enough time to convince people this is worthy of their money!) and returns to the main page searching for another.

My left hand gets into an unsteady rhythm on my erection, and it feels relaxing. Even when I get into a rhythm blowing the brains out of Nazis, I have never been this relaxed. I think I just found me a new stress reliever. It's really short for now, but maybe I can talk to Uncle Kenny this weekend and he can hook me up with something longer. And live. And hardcore.

This preview shit is such a fucking tease. I hate it. But it'll do until I can acquire my own porn. And there's gotta be more than just this one site…I'll Google it later. Right now…I've got to keep going.

Just like the latest blonde and the pumped-up guy. They just keep going…ooh, you can do that? Hmm, the first one that actually shows them doing anything, and it's something I didn't think was possible. That's nice to know. Maybe I can even turn this into an educational experience as well as a stress reliever! That'd just be the icing on the cake!!!

Oh…god…something's coming. There's this sensation building from somewhere deem in side me…and it's proceeding towards my dick, like it's looking for an exit. Then I tense up, and my balls seem to pull up towards my body and my erection starts spasming, and I shoot off several jets of white fluids out of my dick.

I don't know what it is, but I've got a LOT of research to do now! The Germans forgotten, I search my room for a towel to clean up the mess I've made of myself. But this is just TOO good to pass up.

In fact, it's something I should let the others know about. Except Katie. She's not exactly properly equipped for this sort of thing…

But David and Danny, certainly. They'll be able to appreciate it. They get just as stressed out from a normal school day as I do, and they'll welcome the relief.

I resolve to tell them tomorrow. Right now, as I re-dress, I have more important things on my mind. Like finding out EXACTLY what I saw. And why I liked it. And what that white stuff was.

This is going to be the best afternoon/evening I've had in a while.

Thank you, random pornographic link in my inbox…

**-.-**

**Author's Note: Wow. That was just terrible. Absolutely terrible. And incredibly short. . But most of all, just terrible.**

**But I had to start their adolescent development somewhere. And why not with something that every teenager, male or female, has to deal with eventually: porn. Ah well, if you didn't like that, let me know. Erm…you might not like the next couple chapters either, then…**

**Phoenix II**


	18. Sibling Education

Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta

Chapter Seventeen – Sibling Education

Disclaimer: I continue my non-ownage.

Summary: Another one that's pretty much self-explanatory. At least, I think so…you decide.

Author's Notes: Guys, I am WICKED excited right now. The last Harry Potter book comes out tomorrow, and I'm stocked up on sugary drinks and things so I can tolerate a 23 hour day .

But! I'm also wicked excited about next week's chapter. It's the first part of a FUCKIN' TWO PART CHAPTER!! I've never done one of those! I'm WICKED thrilled. And even moreso because next week's chapter, by its nature, will be one of TWO extended-on-deviantART chapters in this story. The other, as you may have guessed, will be chapter twenty-nine, which is now on its TWENTY-SEVENTH handwritten page. Funnily enough, I think the version will stop after the fifteenth. I don't really want to tone down that chapter, so I'll just lop it off to tease you all! Mwahaha! But anyway…that chap's still 3 months away! Let's cut these off and get back to the main focus…CHAPTER SEVENTEEN!!

-.-

March 16, 2023

South Park, CO

4:00 P.M.

-.-

Ryan's POV

-.-

"Dude, I fail to understand what's so goddamn interesting that you won't even let me walk my own self up the fucking stairs!" David protests behind me as I drag him up the stairs into my room.

"Only the BEST THING EVER!" I promise, quickly locking the door, shutting the blinds, and removing my pants before running over to the computer and pulling up the same site from yesterday.

"Umm…why are you not wearing any pants?" David asks. Typical. My jock brother is wondering as to why I'm not wearing PANTS when RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS EYES IS _PORN!!_

"Look at the screen!" I insist, tearing my underwear off as well as the trailer comes up. I thank God for our broadband Internet access. Every day. Just watching the girl as she first comes onscreen is enough to get me hard. David's eyes are immediately drawn to the screen, and his brain is probably screaming Jock-things at him.

Y'know, like "OMG, BOOBIES!!!1!" Grinning at that thought, as the stud comes into frame and grabs the girl, I begin moving my hand up and down. Wikipedia was very helpful last night. I learned THIS was called masturbation, and the end result was called semen, and that in masturbating I just killed about a million possible kids of mine, because semen has the stuff that when combined with an egg from a chick makes babies. Well, zygotes, that become fetuses, that turn INTO babies, but that's not the point.

The motion shifts David's eyes from the screen to my lap.

"Err…what're you doing?"

"Jacking off," I reply smoothly, continuing to do so, and using a cool slang name I found on the wiki.

"…What's that?" my INCREDIBLY naïve brother asks.

"What you do when you watch porn, duh."

"Oh. What happens?"

"Well…you watch porn, and your dick gets stiff, kinda like you gotta go piss really bad, but if you just stroke it for a while, you get really relaxed, and then this white stuff comes out the end."

"Sounds disgusting," he remarks.

"Oh just humor me."

"I think I'll just watch you."

"Don't you think that's kind of … gay?" I ask.

"Nah. I'm a confused boy asking for a demonstration of a concept that I don't understand," he says with a smirk as the trailer begins repeating itself.

"Oh. Well, when you put it THAT way," I say, taking my shirt off too and leaning back in my chair, relaxing with a sigh and concentrating my attention on my hard dick in my hands, blocking out David in the corner of my vision to focus on the big-tittied and garishly made-up woman going down on the guy sitting on the couch. She's not exactly my _type_, per se, but she's STILL pretty fucking hot. I think I'd maybe tap that. If it were just me and her at the end of the earth…

After another repeat of that trailer, and two viewings of another, hotter scene, I come violently into my hand, and immediately pull a towel from my hamper to wipe off.

"Well?" I ask, panting as I turn to face David.

"Damn, dude, that looked intense!!" he says. "Got anything different though?"

"Tell me what you wanna see, and I'll find it on Google," I say with a grin.

"You think they've got lesbian?"

"'COURSE they've got lesbian!" I say, putting "lesbian porn" into Google, not entirely surprised to see over a five million hits.

"Take your pick," I grin. He leans over and clicks on the fifth link, which pulls up a pretty well-put-together site with pics AND video trailers.

"Think you can do it yourself, or do you want help?" I ask, standing up from my chair and vacating it for him while he hurriedly removes his own clothes and clicks up a trailer.

"Of course I can do it myself!" he replies indignantly as I go to sit on my bed and watch. Maybe I can give him a couple tips. After all, I've been doing it longer than he has, I think it's safe to say I know what I'm doing.

He's got a really good body. His football training is putting a lot of muscle mass on him, and he probably weighs at least thirty pounds more than me, because all I do is run and lame shit like that. It keeps me skinny, and that's all I care about really. All muscles are good for is breaking shit. And I don't need to break shit. Ergo, I don't need muscles.

When I look at him again, he's engrossed in the girls rubbing their breasts together, and … oh, God, that's not even close to right. He's treating his dick like he's shaking a martini. He'll never get off like _that_…

"No, no, no…" I say, getting up and walking over to stand behind him as I put my left hand over his, stopping him.

"You're going too aggressively. You need to slow it down a little," I say, guiding his hand up and down the shaft slowly, and relishing in the shudder. Ha-ha, I can make him shudder! The little nerdy boy is better at something than the jock!!

"Oh…dude…gay much?" he asks.

"Nah," I reply. "You're a confused boy that needs hands-on instruction with a concept you don't understand," I say with a grin, turning his own words from earlier back on him.

"Well…when you put it that way…I guess I was going a little too fast. It kinda hurt," he says. "I don't think that's exactly the right feeling I should be getting out of this."

"No, it's not," I readily agree, guiding his hand up and down a few more times before releasing it and allowing him to resume.

"Anything else I should know?" he asks, keeping the slow pace on his own.

"Well, when you get this feeling like something's jerking the pit of your stomach, you may wanna go faster. It means you're close…and I think your body might explode if you don't hurry up and make yourself climax," I say sagely. I know that's not true at all, but HE doesn't…and the shocked look I get is reason enough to say such things around him.

"Dude! Not funny!" he says, and I crack up, doubling over and smacking my knees.

"…I'm not gonna explode, am I?" he asks, the truth dawning on him, too late, like always.

"Haha, no, you're not gonna – Hahaha – explode," I say, wheezing. "But seriously, you may wanna speed it up when you get that feeling. And you might want a different trailer now."

"Alright…thanks, Ryan!" he says, returning to the computer screen and applying his newfound knowledge.

-.-

"Why do you have to pay to see the full thing?" he asks me after he finishes, lying on the bed with me, clothed again as I flip through the channels.

"Cuz they've gotta pay the guys, the whores, or both," I say. "I was thinking of visiting Uncle Kenny over the weekend. I bet he could hook us up with some full-length porn of any variety we wanted."

"The WEEKEND!?!" he exclaims. "The hell, dude, why not just go over now?"

"Cuz Katie'll be there. Do you want the girl you want to do a lot of porn-esque things to knowing you watch porn?" I ask, which seems to take the wind out of his sails for a moment. Until he remembers something he considers Absolutely Pressing and Vital Information.

"Dude! No she won't! This is Thursday!"

"…Yeah, it sure is," I say, not quite sure what to make of the news.

"She gets her hair and nails done at the mall in North Park every Thursday with her Mom, and they go shopping afterwards! They won't be home until like seven or so!"

I glance at the clock. It's a quarter to five.

"Think we can get over there and back before Pops has supper done?"

"Easily," he replies. "Pops is making casserole tonight. Supper won't be done until about six tonight."

"Alright then, you win. Let's go over to Uncle Kenny's."

"I'll meet you downstairs!" he says, jumping off the bed and springing out of my room. I quickly follow him.

Thank you, David, for stalking Katie to the point of memorizing the times she does the things I would consider as trivial. Now, thanks to you, we can have REAL PORN!!

Uncle Kenny's Porn Stash, here we come!!

-.-

Author's Notes: I LOLed at myself as I wrote a lot of this. I hope it amuses you too, at least a little. Anyway, reviews are appreciated. And try not to anticipate yourself to death regarding next week's update(s), hehe.


	19. Discoveries, Part One

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Eighteen – Discoveries, Part One_

**Disclaimer: Not Mine.**

**Summary: Ryan gets a couple of hints as to what is going to end up happening to him.**

**Author's Notes: OK, I made a mistake…last week I identified THIS chapter as the one that's full of all sorts of smut…it's not. That's next week. All the same, I AM putting together a little something that extends something you'll see later on in the chapter. It'll be up on dA with timing either synchronized with this or a couple hours later, assuming all goes well. THIS extension, however, WILL set up something for NEXT week's update. Again, my apologies.**

**-.-**

**March 23, 2023**

**South Park, CO**

**5:00 P.M.**

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

"Ah…ah…ahfuck!!" David exclaims from next to me on the bed. The both of us are naked, and on the TV in front of us is _Naughty Nurses V_, which Uncle Kenny was kind enough to allow us to liberate from his library. Over the past week after school my brother and I have come into my room to watch porn. I think David will be able to start watching on his own pretty soon.

"Dude…dude, you're still going too hard. Slow – it – down," I tell him, reaching over again and stopping his hand from pulling his dick off. "I know they're hot, but your body won't let you come until it's damn good and ready, and no hand speed can change that. You've GOT to SLOW IT DOWN!"

"Dude, I don't get it!" he says, frustrated. "You came within like ten minutes! I've been trying for twenty minutes!! Why is my body so fucking mean?"

"I know tricks, dear brother," I say. "Try a little twist this time, up around the top."

He does, and his dick gives the first twinges that he's ready for orgasm. He does it again, and again, and just as the "Doctor" on the screen sets up for the big finish, he comes violently into his hand.

"Shit, dude, I can't get enough of this!" he remarks. "This is more fun than we've had together in…I don't even know how long!!"

"But…don't you think it's a little gay?" I ask.

"Dude, you read Harry Potter fanfiction, don't you?" he asks.

"How'd you know?"

"Glanced at your page history."

"Oh. Well then, yeah, I do."

"Haven't you read any of the ones with Harry, Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus doing a circle jerk?"

"A what?"

"You get a group of guys together in a circle, and just … jack off."

"And it's not considered gay?"

"Nope. Just something you do with the guys, y'know?"

"I guess…what, you want to invite people over?"

"Not really…I think I'd rather make sure that I'm doing it right. I don't wanna make an ass of myself," he says.

"Well, I guess that's reasonable," I say, turning the DVD player off and getting out of bed to get a new pair of boxers. From downstairs, I hear someone that sounds like Dad screaming Pops' name.

"Dude…you think our parents are doing it downstairs?" David asks from the bed, reaching for the fresh pair of boxers he brought into my room.

"It's only half an hour before dinner!" I exclaim. "They're a big romantic couple…and besides, where could they do it downstairs, if they could pull off romantic sex in a half an hour?"

"Kitchen table?"

"Are you crazy? Dad COACHES _FOOTBALL_!! And Pops has been putting on a little weight recently…they'd collapse the kitchen table!"

"Well, it sounds like it's coming from the kitchen…"

"Maybe Pops is just giving Dad a hummer?"

"Who drives those things anymore?" Have I mentioned before that my brother is incredibly naïve? Like…superbly naïve?

"Not the SUV, r-tard! A hummer! Y'know, like those nurses?"

"Oh! You mean a blowjob?"

I sigh. "Yes. When are you going to start referring things by their cool slang terms?"

"I'd never heard of that one!" he insists, defensively.

"Dude. Lame," I tell him, before trying to picture it in my mind. "I dunno…that's really all I can think of."

"Well, I'd rather not think of it myself," he says. "That's kinda…gay, y'know?"

Brilliant, David. How very observant of you. "Duh, David! In case you haven't noticed, they ARE!"

"Really? You mean Dad and Pops are butt pirates?"

"How many other euphemisms for homosexual ya got, bro?"

"Bunches. We could be here until dinner."

"Well I want something to drink before then. Can we kindly settle this?"

"I can if you can."

"Fine then! No, only one of them is the butt pirate. The other one is the one that gets plundered."

"Which one, do ya think?"

"What, just because I have the room next to theirs, you think I know which one is the catcher, and which one is the pitcher?"

"Hey, mine's all the way across the hall! I can't hear anything!"

I sigh, defeated. "All right, all right, I give! I heard ONCE. Just ONCE! Four years ago, a week after that football game that we got knocked out in, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Well, that week was pretty silent, if you recall, but that Saturday, at about ten thirty, it just got REALLY loud. Woke me up from a sound sleep. But I DID hear Pops begging Dad to take him. Then I shoved my pillow over my ears, because I did NOT want to hear my parents doing it all night, especially once they'd been without for a week."

"Yeah, but…they're like … over forty now," he points out.

"So? Hell, Great-Grampa just bit it a couple years ago. He was a HUNDRED and fucking THIRTY FIVE!! They'll be doing it until they're like…seventy two, probably. Their families are pretty long-lived!!"

"Aw, aww…dude…"

"Yeah, yeah, I answered your goddamn question. Dad tops, Pops takes. I'm going to go get something to drink before supper," I say, pulling my jeans back on and throwing on my shirt before stepping out and heading downstairs, where I hear a snippet of conversation.

"How about Coke and Vodka? You can't say you don't like the nights that leads to," Dad says as I reach the landing, in something of a whining tone.

"Not at dinner, ass!" Pops responds, in something of a growl.

"Aw, come on!" Dad insists. "Do you honestly think those boys are going to come down when you call them?" Gee, thanks a lot, Dad! Thinking that porn is more important to us than food! Just so you can try and convince Pops to let you screw him on the kitchen table! I didn't think old people could BE that horny!

"Yes," Pops replies, sticking up for us. "Because if they don't, they don't get dinner. And they know that." Or not. Well, maybe sort of. He's still insinuating that we're entirely driven by our stomachs, which TOTALLY isn't true, but at least he's not as bad as Dad.

"Oh, just put it in the microwave for them!" God, Dad, seriously!

"No. We eat together, once, and those that miss it, miss it. No leftovers in this house when I cook!!"

"Listen to my angry wifey! You're making me want you again!" Wifey? What the fuck, Dad? Pops is a guy…not a wife. Husband. Or is wifey your new pet name? I must admit, it's going to be a little better than hearing you call him "Kosher Salt." Many, many orders of magnitude better. Thank you for ceasing to scar me for life.

"Later, Goddamnit!" I think Pops saw me heading for the kitchen, and decided to shut Dad up.

"Ryan!" Dad says, turning to me as I head for the refrigerator and Pops turns back to his mashed potatoes. That roast smells fucking awesome…

"Hey Dad. Hey Pops. How long 'til dinner?" I ask, grabbing a bottle of water.

"Probably fifteen minutes. Where's your brother?" Pops asks.

"I left him upstairs. He'll probably be down soon."

"Enjoying the porn?" Dad asks, and I blush a VERY deep shade of red.

"Stan, god fucking damnit, learn some tact!" Pops says, getting clearly riled up.

"What!?! Kenny told me what he gave you, it's cool! Remember all the porn WE watched when they were their age?"

"This ISN'T something you talk about at dinner!"

"But it's not dinner yet!" Dad points out.

"Fine! The KITCHEN is not a place to talk about porn! Take it into the living room if you're going to talk about that!"

"Maybe I will!" he shoots back defiantly, but he makes no move to get out of his chair. Whatever they did, it sure drained him. CAN'T have just been a hummer. Hummers are nothing.

"Ryan, will you do your Dad a favor and gimme a beer?" he asks.

"Sure, no problem," I say, hoping to shut him up about the porn. I get up and head back to the refrigerator before Pops speaks again.

"No beer, Goddamnit! Ryan, give him a Coke."

"Kyyylee…I wanna beer!"

"Tough! You're having a fucking Coke, and that's fucking Final!" Pops says. As tough as Dad is, I think I'm gonna side with Pops on this one. I give Dad his Coke, and polish off my water before Dad starts spooning mashed potatoes into a serving bowl and turns off the oven.

"Ryan, go get your brother, would you? He's not down yet, and I'm ready to start serving supper."

"Sure thing, Pops," I say, rising and heading for the stairs. I just hope to GOD that Pops can keep Dad from making an ass of himself over dinner. I don't want to have to rush eating this dinner…I like this dinner!

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: Well, here it is! It's rather crap, but there is a bit of sexy action for it over on dA (or will be, depending on how nicely my crap-tastic Internets decide to act) to hopefully make up for it.**

**Next week's chapter, I promise, will have DOUBLE the sexy action, and a fair bit of angst, drama, and PLOT O!!**

**Phoenix II**


	20. Discoveries, Part Two

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Nineteen – Discoveries, Part Two_

**Disclaimer: Not Mahn!**

**Summary: Continuation of last week's plot.**

**Author's Notes: Alright…this chapter is not going to be on dA. Because, again, of the way it's written. You can use your imagination, but the way Ryan experiences this chapter, there is no room for expansion. Sorry to let you all down…all I can do is tell you to look forward ten weeks. By God, there WILL be smut in that chapter! I'm writing it right now!**

**-.-**

**March 24, 2023**

**South Park, CO**

**12:15 A.M.**

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

I should have been in bed an hour or two ago. But I got caught up in a quest in Warcraft, and I just finished. I got a new cloak and a couple of levels out of it, so it wasn't a _complete_ waste of time, but I'm going to be tired as hell in the morning. I'll be perfectly content to just shut down the computer and jump into bed. I showered and brushed my teeth a few hours ago, before I started the quest, so all I have to do is get out of my clothes and into my bed.

Unfortunately, somewhere in between step one – remove normal clothes, and step two – jump into bed, a monkey wrench is thrown into my plans. Now that I'm no longer hearing anything but the normal nighttime silence. Until it's broken by not-quiet-enough whispers from Dad and Pops' room.

"Kyle!" comes Dad's voice. "Kyle…I think they're asleep!!"

"Stan, it's quarter past midnight," Pops' voice replies groggily. "We've got school in the morning you r-tard."

"Kyyyyyyle, you PROMISED!" Dad whines. "Are you gonna break a promise to me?"

"I said 'maybe,' damnit," Pops says, clearly wanting Dad to shut the fuck up and let him go to sleep.

"C'mon, how often do I let you have this kind of an opportunity?" I hear a rustle of sheets…OK, I'm intrigued. I know this is probably a bad idea, but I want to know what kind of "opportunity" Dad is presenting Pops.

"Fine…" I hear as I stealthily approach their not-quite-closed door as a light turns on.

"You're just lucky we're having a fucking heat wave this week and we're hardly wearing anything," Pops says, in between what sound likes kisses. Well, that's true…oh, wait…are they gonna do it, then? I hazard a peek into the room just in time to see Dad's boxers pulled from his body and thrown haphazardly off the bed, and come to land barely three feet from my vantage point. Pops' soon follow, and land across the room.

"You still keep the lube and stuff in the bedside table?" Pops asks, looking up from kissing Dad's neck.

"Yes…oh, God, it's been too long since you did this…" is Dad's response.

"Since last Hannukah if I'm remembering right," Pops says, reaching over and picking out the two aforementioned items from a drawer before moving in for the kill. Wait…no, this isn't right…this is almost like Pops is going to be topping! I told David that Dad tops! C'mon, he's TOTALLY the uke! The one that does all the housework and stuff. The uke doesn't get to top!

Never the less, here he is…lubing up three fingers and slowly inserting them into Dad's ass, to the pleasure of the man I've thought was the dominant one. But then…I DID hear Dad say that this was a rare opportunity for Pops. Did he lose a bet or something? I know he doesn't bottom OFTEN. I wasn't entirely truthful earlier when I said I'd only heard once. I hear them almost every time they do it, so I've grown pretty much accustomed to hearing Pops moaning and pleading for Dad to take him, and then his pleasured and occasionally delirious utterances while he's being taken. A few times a year I heard that type of stuff coming from Dad, but I always assumed that it was because Pops was doing something different that made him fucking crazy with passion. Never could I have imagined Dad allowing himself to be taken. It's not that Pops has anything to be ashamed of in that department, but…Dad's bigger. Even though Pops is circumcised and Dad isn't, the appearance Pops gets still doesn't make up for what Dad is actually packing.

And yet, I'm watching him slide that larger-appearing tool into Dad, while Dad wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss while he begins slowly thrusting in and out. And it's NOT disgusting me like it should. Shouldn't it? Have I been hearing them do it long enough that I've grown used to it? Does that make any sense? I mean, I'd be the last person to consider something disgusting and immoral, because I consider myself fairly open minded that way, but…still. I've never thought that it LOOKED like that. It's not a very clean thing, normally. But apparently they take very good care back there, so it's not disgusting. It's not disgusting at all…there's LOVE there. Actual love and care, like you can only get from people that are DESTINED to be together.

I think I'm turning into a fucking sap. I shouldn't be watching this. They're my PARENTS, for fuck's sake. I shouldn't be watching this, and … I GODDAMN well shouldn't be getting turned on by it! I mean…they're two guys! They're my parents, AND they're both guys! There are a million VERY GOOD reasons why I should NOT BE WATCHING this and why it should NOT be TURNING ME ON! And at the same time…I AM, and it IS. All based on only one good reason I can come up with – it's hot. It's real, live sex, and I'm watching it! In secret, which just adds to the awesomeness of it. But…I have a boner from watching my parents go at it! A boner as stiff as from watching ANY of the porn I've watched. And over the past few weeks I've managed to watch a LOT of porn.

As soon as they manage to build up a decent speed, Pops begins to shudder, leading to lusty moaning from the both of them, before he collapses, spent, into Dad's embrace. I didn't see Dad get off, but I couldn't see much besides Pops' back and all the sexy action in the form of Dad getting sexed up BY Pops. I back away as Dad turns off the light and they both doze off to sleep. I'm back in my room in a jiffy, and thankfully my boner has gone down without the visual stimulation. I slide into bed quickly and pull the sheet up to my chin, begging for sleep to come quickly. I have to get up in about six and a half hours, afterall. I've been distracted enough tonight…

I can't believe I watched that. I _watched my parents do it_!! I watched my Dad take it up the ass, something I never thought of before. I thought a top was a top, and a bottom was a bottom, and that was that. Bottoms aren't supposed to top, and tops aren't supposed to bottom. And _I got turned on by it_, which only makes it worse! I feel terrible. I just know I'm going to have a fucking SERIOUS problem with this. I just KNOW it. Nothing good can come out of this.

**-.-**

In my dreams, I have a sweaty boy hovering above me. I can tell from the hair that my hands are tangled in that it is curly and rough, and I can see that it's red, and I can see that he has an athletic body, but I can't see his face because of a conveniently placed shadow. He kisses his way down my body and gives me a thrilling blowjob. I've never had one before, but I've watched plenty, and he is SKILLED. He brings me to the brink before backing off and preparing me to enter him. Strangely enough, I don't object to this.

When he does enter me, it feels wonderful. I feel full. I feel stretched, but I don't feel anything tear, in another testament to his skill. He knows EXACTLY what to do. Once he's sure I'm comfortable with him being inside me, he begins to slowly move in and out of me just like Pops moved in and out of Dad, while he caresses my body and whispers declarations of love in my ear.

"I love you, Ryan," he tells me, his voice husky with passion and lust.

All I can do in reply is moan. I might get out a couple of "I love you"s in return. I don't know…I'm too delirious with pleasure. Now I know what Pops feels. I can explain what I've heard all those times without their knowledge. I just wish I could see who was treating me so wonderfully, and making me feel so good right now.

His next thrusts are even more carefully placed to hit my prostate, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through my entire body, causing me to gasp, moan, and arch into his muscular body as he continues to thrust into me. He has remarkable stamina, both a show of experience and endurance that he gets from having a lot of sex in the past (I idly wonder in my dream how many times I was), and from a lot of training. Not necessarily in sex, but from whatever.

His thrusts are slow and gentle, full of caring and reverence for my body. When he tells me he loves me, I believe him. I've felt better than I ever dreamed of being. I've never imagined being the type of person who would take it up the ass. I never even thought of myself as gay, just really, really, really accepting. I didn't know that would condemn me from a lifetime of pillow-biting.

But being gay is something this boy seems to handle very well, to treat naturally. It's not deviant or abnormal in the least to him. And the way he handles me, he thinks I do too. And, let's be honest, I grew up Catholic, of course I do. I never was molested by a priest, but I think Danny was. He never really talked about it, but I heard something rather unnatural coming from the confession box when he was in it.

"God, Ryan, I love you," he says, as he shudders within me, and I feel him come deep within me. I feel absolutely loved. This person, this mystery person, feels like a person I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with. And even as I feel this, his hand reaches down to get me off as well. And he does. And as he does, he does…a twist? At the top, just like I showed David to get him off quicker.

Once my breathing recovers to normal levels, he pulls me up for a kiss, and as he does, I see the face that I'm kissing. It's a very familiar face…

…and then, I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock buzzing the fact that it's six A.M. My sheets are a stick mess, the boxers I wore to bed are a sticky mess, _I'M_ a stick mess, but all of that is negligible compared to the utter shock of the boy that made me feel so good. I don't know why I didn't figure it out for myself earlier on in the dream, only two people in town have that kind of hair, one's Pops, and the other is the boy I dreamed was making love to me:

David.

My brother, David.

My twin brother, David.

My twin brother, superstar quarterback, and masturbating buddy, David.

Who is a boy.

I know, because we've been jacking off together for weeks. He's very much a boy. An adorable – no, gorgeous – boy, who has NOTHING to be ashamed of in the boxers department.

Oh, God…THIS is embarrassing. I don't know what's worse anymore, the fact that I dreamed about my brother making love to me, or the fact that I _LIKED_ it. I liked it, and I don't think I would mind him doing that to me in real life. Something that would NO WAY happen.

David's straight.

Just like I thought I was, up until six hours ago. When I watched my parents, who are also both guys, get it on and got aroused by it. And then dreamed of having that exact same thing be done to me.

I just KNOW I've picked the wrong boy to have a gay crush on. I mean…it's incest, isn't it? We were both born to the same mother, but beyond that, I don't know. I mean…it's pretty improbable that Dad and Pops fathered us, even though we look uncannily like them. But…it's not like anything BAD could come out of it. I couldn't give birth to a child with birth defects. I couldn't give birth to a child PERIOD. Cuz I'm a guy too.

Ah, son of a BITCH…what'm I gonna do?

This just gets worse and worse and WORSE!

I'm gay for my straight twin brother.

Oh, shit.

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: I hope you all don't hate me for this. OK, now you know what all those hints were about Ryan from earlier chapters. But this is what the rest of the story is going to be about, him trying to deal with it, and others trying to help him with it, until we get to the reason this story is titled what it is.**

**Just to remind you, "Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta" translates to "Although It Costs Me My Life."**

**If you want to discuss this with me, PM me and I'll give you my reasoning as to why I'm doing this.**

**Thank you.**

**Phoenix II**


	21. Repercussions

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Twenty – Repercussions_

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Summary: Ryan is gay for David. See chapter title for further hints.**

**Author's Note: Alright…I have a few thoughts. This is the end of the first real chapter arc in this story…the first fifteen were basically just all set-up. I even read back earlier today…and there's another hint about Ryan in Chapter Eight (Nine in the dropdown box, because of the prologue) that I didn't even intend to drop. This arc was about discovery. The next five weeks are about investigation, and each of the next five chapter titles will begin with the letter "I." Assuming I survive long enough to write them…its going to be 100 degrees all throughout band camp next week. Bleh…**

**-.-**

**March 24, 2023**

**South Park, CO**

**08:00 A.M.**

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

Oh God oh God oh God. I am Doomed, with a capital D. I am Fucked, with a capital F. I am Screwed, with a capital S. I am in Serious Fucking Trouble. This gay crush on David means I can't be near him. And we're in school! Still in school! Can't avoid the guy! Gotta see him in the halls, bump into him at the locker, sit next to him at lunch, in class, on the bus!! I'm in SO MUCH FUCKING TROUBLE!!

I've tried avoiding him so far today. I practically begged him to sit next to Katie on the bus. Thankfully, he took the hint. Which is actually worse, in a way, because THAT means he's REALLY straight, because he's got an almost OCD-level crush on a girl. My position is hopeless, untenable. I've got a gay crush, who is my BROTHER, and I'm encouraging him to chase after a girl? Why? Why would I do that? What good does that do me? None! None at all! But at the same time, I can't POSSIBLY tell him that I don't want him to be with Katie. Because he'd ask. And he told me he didn't want to ever use the excuse "because she's a little undeserving skank" ever again, so I'd have to tell him the REAL reason, "because I want you to pin me to a bed and fuck me senseless."

So instead of doing what any normal person with a crush would do, which is cleverly drop subtle hints about their affections and intentions until the object of the affections catches on, _I_ have to encourage the object of _MY_ affections to pursue another person! It's ridiculous! It's terrible! It's fucking unheard of! Why can't MY fantasies and desires come true? Why does it have to be HIS? Just because his are "normal?" That's so fucking dumb!

"Hey, Ryan," I hear from behind me. Oh, fuck…David. "Dude, you've been avoiding me all morning. What's up?"

"Nothing," I say, not looking at him.

"You're not coming down with anything, are you?" he asks.

"No," I reply, still not looking at him.

"You wanna watch porn later?" he asks. And have to see you working your dick, wanting to touch it, and wanting it in me, and knowing I can't have it? I'll pass on that, thank you. I'm not a fucking masochist.

"No…" I say, still not looking at him. "I think you can do it well enough on our own. You don't need me anymore." I resolve not to look at him and walk away. It works. Until, that is, he grabs me by my backpack strap and forces me around.

"OK, dude, SOMETHING'S up. Why won't you look at me?" Oh shit…cute face, cute face…even pissed off, cute face!!

"N-n-nothing's up!!" I insist, forcing myself to look away.

"Why won't you talk to me?"

"No reason! God, leave me alone!" I say, wrenching myself out of his grasp. "I've got to go to History. Go ask Katie if she'll bang you or something." Angry, I pivot and walk away, my anger stemming more frustration at the fact that I can't have him than from actual displeasure with him.

Once I'm around the corner, I risk a peek back. He's staring in the middle of the hallway as the two-minute-warning bell sounds, with a confused look on his face. I wonder if he'll work it out. God, I hope not…

**-.-**

**October 17, 2023**

**South Park, CO**

**03:45 P.M.**

**-.-**

…I hate myself. I hate my life. This well and thoroughly, and absolutely and completely, sucks. My "David situation" has gone from "caught between a rock and a hard place" to "give the fuck up." And for the most part, I have. I still have the dream every night. The EXACT same dream, every night. Not a single thing different, ever. Except I don't usually wake up in a sticky mess anymore.

I've given up even thinking about telling him, and he doesn't seem to have figured it out. Back in August, soon after we entered high school, he finally succeeded in hooking up with Katie. They've been dating for two months, and I don't think she's even LOOKED at another boy since. I don't know if they've done it yet. I don't talk much to David anymore. I haven't talked to him since the end of September. The last time I talked to him, we got into a fight. He asked me why I wasn't talking to him much anymore. Why I wasn't talking to Katie at all anymore. Why I was hanging out with Danny so much. Why we'd both become fucking Emos lately.

I told him to fuck off and mind his own business, and leave me alone, and just go bang his skanky girlfriend. Which has been my standard retort since March, when I started to have my fucking dreams about him. I'm thankful sometimes that he's too fucking dense to pick up on all the jealousy I pack into each retort. I think he sees it as venom, without cause. Thank God.

Danny, me, and a few other "scene" kids have, with Pops' permission, formed a small art club. We meet down in the Art Room regularly after school, hang out, complain about how misunderstood we are, and draw, paint, shape clay, whatever. It gives Pops something to supervise while he waits for Dad and David to get out of football practice. The best part is, that'll even be true in the spring, now that Dad's decided to keep working with the teams all year, to keep them sharp, training, and at their best.

I don't like my art. I saw the small room upstairs down the hall from Pops' studio that's full of old paintings and things. They're…gruesome. Absolutely gruesome. They're paintings of everything the Bible says Hell is, tortured souls, fire, and brimstone. Mine are similar. Only more abstract. Dark colours, yes, colours, I use the British spelling, because "that's hardcore," with no real recognizable patterns or purpose. I've drawn fiery spirals, blocks, swirls, and splatterjobs, and people think I'm fucking great. When I make clay pieces, I invariably end up making some formation of two male symbols joined together, with one male symbol joined with a female symbol, and the lot of them encased in a pink-glazed triangle, and people think I'm a fucking visionary. I never let Pops see them either, because I REALLY don't want him on my case about any of this. That would just add insult to this heart-wrenching injury that I endure every day and night.

Danny has undergone the most remarkable transformation. I mean, even those of us who imagined that he would survive long enough to make it to high school never pictured him falling in with this crowd. He's just not the type. He has BLONDE emohair. A BLONDE emofringe. All the rest of use have dark fringes. Not Danny. We asked him why once. We only needed to ask him once. "Because if I dye my hair, I'll get grounded!" His dad is the most fucked up piece of work on this planet. Charlie Manson has a less interesting psych workup than Uncle Leo. He starves his son to the point of death, lets him go emo, and lets him cut himself as much as he wants, but if he dyes his hair, he'll ground him. All this while getting drunk every night, taking out old High School yearbooks and sobbing over an inmate in prison for hate-related attempted murder!!

"Hey guys," Danny says from where he's painting another family violence scene. He scans the papers for domestic murders, and then uses the descriptions to reconstruct the crime scene, bloody, gory detail by bloody, gory detail. "I got a couple tickets to the Bright Eyes concert in Denver on Friday. Anyone wanna come with?" he asks.

"Sorry," the most senior of our little group says. "I've got a poetry reading at Tweak's. Kari's gonna be with me." Kari, a junior girl who really doesn't have the body type for the clothes she wears, nods in confirmation.

"How 'bout you, 'Lanie?" he asks Melanie, a sophomore girl who might be somewhat pretty if she'd take off the garish makeup.

"Sorry, Dans, I promised Benny I'd go to his stupid football game against Oakwood." Benjamin "Benny" Moskowicz is the fullback for the football team. I can't see how the hell he doesn't crush Lanie, seeing as how he weighs 230 pounds to her barely 115 (if that), but he manages somehow. Bet she rides him…

"Ryan?" Danny asks. "You're not going to the Oakwood game, are you?" I don't know why he's even asking. I haven't been to a football game this year. I even skipped the Middle Park game. David would see me there. David would see me staring at his ass in his football pants there. David would see me get jealous at each person who has the luck to touch him as they tackle him. Football is WAY out for me.

"Hell no. Bright Eyes, in Denver? Count me in, man," I say, reaching over to punch him lightly on the shoulder. I think the both of us have started to treat these concert trips as little dates. Danny's pretty openly bi, but no one's really willing to date/fuck him. No wonder he's bi. If the opportunity to get some comes up, he doesn't want to have to pass up on it just because of some stupid thing like gender. I haven't really told anyone I'm gay yet, but the fact that I never turn him down to go to a concert with him HAS to speak volumes. I just hope he never expects me to put out. My virginity is reserved for David and David only, no matter how improbable/impossible that scenario gets. I will die a virgin rather than have sex with someone that isn't David.

"Great!" he says. "Pick me up at four so we can make it for doors at seven?" he asks. It's well known that he doesn't have a car. I don't either, but I'm VERY persuasive and don't mind driving illegally on my learner's permit. As long as I follow the rules and don't have anything broken on my car, the cops won't pull me over.

"Sounds good, dude," I tell him as we all get back to work. At last, something decent to look forward to. Most of the concert tickets end up being mosh pit tix, but the beer and weed and God-only-knows-what-the-hell-THAT-is smells and stains wash right out of clothes and bodies, and it's a small price to pay for decent music and a night out of the house. A night of distractions from my hopeless crush on David, who is very much taken. Is it still a love TRIANGLE if one of the people doesn't know he's being pursued? Conventional wisdom says no. As does simple Geometry…Katie and David go in a straight line, and I link to DAVID from my point, but Katie doesn't link back to ME, so it's not a proper triangle. It's an acute angle. I think.

Oh, yes, THAT'S a good way to distract yourself, Ryan. Do fucking MATH about your crush and his relationship! You're crazy as hell, boy…crazy as hell.

But you know what? I _NEED_ to be crazy. If I was sane, this would all be worse, somehow. I know that, even though I have no real evidence to back it up. It would be worse if I was sane, so it's good that I'm not.

Whoo-fucking-hoo for insanity. Three cheers for madness. Hip, hip, hoorah. 

God I suck.

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: Danny's emoness and bisexuality are important. I just want you to know that. Also, there was a lie in that chapter. But you won't know what until chapter 29, lol! Review, please!!! **

**Phoenix II**


	22. Inquiries

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Twenty-One – Inquiries_

**Disclaimer: Still not mine…**

**Summary: Someone gets curious about Ryan's new habits.**

**Author's Notes: I'd just like to let you know that I've found a new character arc that I hadn't planned for … you'll see the first tendrils of it a month or so from now.**

**-.-**

**February 29, 2026**

**South Park, CO**

**6:18 P.M.**

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

_Today is day 1072 of my crush on my twin brother. Obviously, this thing isn't going to go away. It's been going on for nearly three years now and I still don't know if I should just give up on him and try and get someone else. I haven't yet looked at anybody else in THAT way, trying to gauge if they would do me. Even though I wouldn't let them. I'm such a fucking pathetic mess. I should just slip up once and hit a vein. Everything would be so much easier. David would never have to worry about knowing something he'll never know anyway (unless he's reading this, which he's OBVIOUSLY not, because I'm still alive to write it), and I wouldn't have to worry about him finding out. Because I, personally, don't think I could make it ANY more obvious. Any half-blind person could probably figure it out. A few actually blind people probably can. But can my obliviously straight brother?_

_No._

_And it infuriates me. It makes me want to kill myself by cutting the words "I Wanted To Fuck My Twin" into my chest. So that thick bastard could maybe put one and two and three and four and five and six and seven and eight and nine and ten together and figure what the fuck's been going on with me. The worst part is … I think he's stopped caring. The last time we actually TALKED about anything without one of us storming off in a huff was two years ago. The subject matter was sports. It almost got into an argument. It probably would have, in fact, if we hadn't been called to dinner. I miss being normal. I miss my brother. I miss the friendship, the companionship, the "I've-got-your-back-no-matter-what." I hate having to be alone. I don't WANT to be alone. I want David back. But I don't want to have to live a lie to do it. I want him to know of my feelings and return them, but I don't want him to know of my feelings. I'm so scared that he'll hate me. That I'll never get him to like me in ANY way if he finds out. Not as a lover, but not even as a friend and a brother either? That would be absolute torture. A harsh, bloody torture, unlike the sweet, exquisite torture I endure day in and day out watching him every chance I get. I'm obsessed. And I'm disgusting. I want this all to stop. I don't particularly WANT to love him. It's not like I asked for it…I would NEVER have asked for that, especially if I could have known that it would lead to this._

_We've NEVER been this apart. I just … want it all to stop. All of it. The love, the living, time itself … just STOP. Why can't anyone indulge me that one wish? God, what I would give for that wish to be granted…_

"Ryan?" I hear from the door, so I set down my pen and close the latest notebook I've been using as a journal over it.

"Yeah, Pops?" I reply, turning as my mind identifies the speaker.

"We need to talk. Can I come in?" he asks. He appears to have a folder of something tucked under his arm.

"Yeah, sure, no problem," I say, coming over to sit by him on my bed. My mind dwells briefly on the fact that I'm going to be sitting in close proximity to an exact physical likeness of David. It tries to tell me that I should probably be turned on by this and enjoy it, because it's the closest I'm going to get. That thought goes away as soon as what's left of the good part of my brain reminds me "Hey! This one of your fathers you're talking about here! NO GETTING TURNED ON!" and I don't. I still hesitate a little in sitting, though, because I don't know what he's brought with him.

He spends a few minutes glancing at me and looking me over, and I fidget nervously, wondering what he's looking for. I'm wearing a loosely-sleeved long-sleeve shirt and a pair of baggy sweatpants. My hair's hanging down into my eyes. I stopped combing it over cuz it was ruining my depth perception and Dad threatened to not get me a car. He still didn't cuz the insurance company wouldn't cover me because of all the little dingers I got into cuz I couldn't judge distance cuz of my hair.

So, David got this brand-new shiny Jeep for our sixteenth birthday, and I got … pretty much nothing. A coloured pencil, cake and ice cream, and a bicycle. And concert tickets to this big music festival thing in Denver that I had to bum a ride from DANNY to. Even HE got a fucking car! His present from Dad and Pops. They gave DANNY a car instead of their own child! Granted its twenty years old and it barely runs, but still! Gee, you always hear emokids complaining about their parents not getting them shit, but when their parents give SOME OTHER PERSON'S KID something they didn't even give their OWN kid…something's wrong with that!

"I'm worried about you," Pops says finally, ceasing his appraisal of me.

Huh? "What do you mean?" I ask.

"You're making mistakes. That's not like you, Ryan. You've been … _different_ … for the past few years. I know I should have come to you about this sooner, but I was desperately hoping that it would pass and not come to this."

What the hell is he getting on about? "What do you mean?" I ask again.

"You're going to turn out like me, if you keep this up," he says with a sigh, opening the folder on his lap. I look down at it and see some of the things I do both in club and in class, my darker ones. Like…hearts wrapped in barbed wire dripping blood dark. I stopped making blatant artistic references to my love acute angle with David and Katie 18 months ago. Now I seed the symbols into the background of my work, all still pointing in the correct direction, but not the main focus of the piece.

"These are very familiar to me," Pops says. "And the main reason I want to talk to you."

"What's wrong with 'em?" I ask defensively. "It's called expression. You know that, what's your problem with my expressing myself?"

"Because you're not expressing yourself," he says. "This isn't Ryan. Your Dad and I didn't raise you so you would turn into me."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you know," he replies.

"I don't think I do, actually."

"You saw my old things," he says bluntly.

"Oh. Oh, yeah, I saw those…" I admit. "But that's not why I'm drawing that."

"Then why are you."

"Because I'm hurting."

"No you're not."

"YES, I _FUCKING_ AM!!" I explode. "I've got more pain than you could POSSIBLY know about!!"

"Look, if this is because we didn't get you a car…" he starts, but I don't let him finish.

"NO, that's not why!" I say. "I've been doing this for three goddamned years, you fucking idiot! Or haven't you noticed? Or do you even give a shit? Are you too busy giving perfect fucking David whatever the fuck HE wants to busy with my minimal little needs? I got a goddamned glorified crayon from you for my sixteenth birthday! My perfect fucking brother got a Goddamned CAR for fucks sake! Don't you see anything WRONG with that!?! Because there is, Pops…there is!" I finish relatively calmly in contrast to the screaming I did in the middle of that. To his considerable credit, Pops sits there and takes it all as I wander around my room tearing at my hair and ranting.

"I'm here, aren't I?" he asks, gently, trying to calm me down further.

"Only AFTER you've decided there was a problem! If you gave a shit, you would have been here three years ago and tried to prevent it!"

"Roll up your sleeves," he says, shocking me and derailing our "conversation."

"Roll up my sleeves?" I repeat.

"Roll them up," he responds. I sigh and comply.

When he sees the light scarring, I see the frown on his face.

"How long?" he asks. 

"Not long," I answer. "Just the past few months…"

"Why?"

"I can't tell you," I say, and instantly feel ashamed. He IS my father, after all. Adopted or not, I should still trust the man. He looks a little hurt by my statement, but he seems to accept it. I wonder if he would still accept it if I COULD tell him why.

"Alright…" he says and stands up. "Ryan…I really do care. I promise. And I don't want you to have to go through what I did. Please…if you ever wanna tell me why you're hurting yourself…you know where I am." He gives me a hug on his way to the door.

"I'll think about it," I say, returning the hug as my mind wanders and wonders if a hug from David would feel the same…

"And I want you to promise me won't do this to yourself anymore. I know your … friends … might be pressuring you to, but … you could really hurt yourself doing that. I learned it the hard way. Don't make my mistakes, Ryan."

"I promise, Pops," I say, and he releases me and leaves, allowing me to lie down and wonder WHY I can't tell Pops that I have a crush on David. It would let me let it out to a supporting person…but would he stop supporting me if he found out? He's not like that, is he?

Sighing and returning to my desk, I pick up my pen again and finish my journal entry.

_I think I'm going to resolve to tell someone soon. I'm tired of hiding. I want to know. And what I've become is really good for no one, me especially. I think Pops is right, even if I'm not exactly sure what the fuck he's talking about. He never had a crush on Uncle Ike, did he?_

_I think Dad would kill him if he had. But they say they were always close…maybe they considered each other brothers? But does that mean he already knows? I shouldn't have blown up on him like I did. Of course he cares about me. My accusations were completely baseless. He and Dad had very good reasons for not getting me a car. They could've given me more than a coloured pencil and a bike, but really, what else could they have given me? I suspect Dad suggested porn, and Pops probably denied him sex for a night for being stupid._

_I'm going to tell someone…if I don't chicken out._

_Please, God, don't let me chicken out. This is killing me. Slowly, but surely, killing me. And I don't wanna die._

_Ryan_

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: Another chap bites the dust!!! Not much to say about this one…**

**Phoenix II**


	23. Inferences

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Twenty-Two: Inferences_

**Disclaimer: NOT mine.**

**Summary: Another Kyle/Ryan talking chapter…these will occur often.**

**Author's Notes: FIVE REVIEWS UNTIL THIS STORY BECOMES MY FIRST WITH 100 REVIEWS!!! Whoever gets the 100****th**** review…I dunno, I'll do something for you, maybe.**

**-.-**

**April 25, 2026**

**South Park, CO**

**8:35 P.M.**

**-.-**

**Kyle's POV**

**-.-**

OK, this has gone on long enough. When I started on my list, I told myself that I'd give him a warning talk at three signs, and I did. When it got to five, action would need to be taken. The fourth sign would require a stronger talk. Hopefully one that would get out in the open what was troubling him so much. Tonight, I received the fourth sign.

The first two came together, the change in style and the art. I went along with it for three years because I had been hoping against hope that Ryan had been swept up into a fad, and it would run its course eventually. After three years with his art – and personality – getting more depressing and shrunken, respectively, it became clear that my hopes were unfounded. The third sign manifested itself quite by accident, when I noticed a bloodstain on one of Ryan's towels – a thin line of blood, not just a random drop – that indicated, to me, cutting. Those suspicions were proven correct when I talked to him two months ago. I had hoped, again hedging a bet that I would ultimately lose, that our talk would be the end of it.

Unfortunately, I have been proven wrong once again. I hate being proven wrong. It means I'm not doing something right. I miss my Junior High Ryan. I don't like this thin, moody youth who only has one visible eye, wears skintight black clothing, and has an intricate scarring pattern up and down his arms. I want my happy, talkative, genius son back. David wants his brother back. I can see it in the way he does everything, there's a longing there that can't be satisfied with any number of girlfriends or buddies. He needs his brother back.

The fourth sign, that I just saw an hour ago, was that Ryan has taken a lesbian girl – an openly lesbian girl, rather, this is not just my opinion – to his Junior Prom. His brother took Katie McKormick, who is looking relatively decent. That in itself is amazing to me, as is the fact that he's leading her through a masterful performance of the tango right now. But what's an even greater tell is the expression Ryan wears while he, along with the rest of the school, watches.

His expression is one of … jealously, I think. Or longing. Or both. Oh, God…he really IS turning into me. He's becoming just like I was at college, only without the addiction to painkillers. I don't know whether to celebrate the luck I have that I have time to change this behavior. First find out what the underlying cause is, and see if it's possible to change it. Oh, _GOD_ I hope it's possible to change it. I know what my parents must have felt when I showed back up home Thanksgiving of my freshman year in college looking _just like_ Ryan looks now, except where the hair is concerned. It's almost enough to induce despair, to know that something is troubling your child to the point where they become capable of killing, or at least hurting, themselves, and yet finding yourself unable to do anything about it because they won't talk to you.

I'm going to _MAKE_ Ryan talk to me. I couldn't give a shit one way or the other if he's gay or not, as his art seems to suggest, after all, I'M gay, what sort of a hypocrite would that make me if I objected to my son coming out? What I'm worried about is that his feelings are for somebody that he feels won't return them, that he's developing an obsessive crush on a boy that doesn't know because he won't talk. Like me…how many times when I was in college did I resolve to accost Stan one day and confront him with my feelings? Too many to count, at least once a week. But I never did, and we grew apart. I watched the boy I loved mature, date girls, play football, all from a distance, never there beside him as I was when he was growing up and doing mostly the same things. Like I was before I became obsessed with him. Like I was before I built my small shrine to Stan that I kept in my dresser each year and would take out and stare at any time my roommate was out.

I've made my mistakes. I experienced them, I learned from them, and in a very strange and roundabout way, I've benefited from them. But like I told him two months ago, I don't want him making _MY_ mistakes. I want him to make his own. But he's still not…he's still got the same "problem" he wouldn't tell me about two months ago, and its still causing him pain. Exactly what kind of pain and how much I don't know, again, because he won't tell me. But he _IS_ going to tell me tonight. I'm going to make sure of it. I need to know. He needs to tell. Occasionally he talks to himself while he writes his journals, and I heard him once last month muttering about "the absolute and dire need" to talk to someone he could trust. I'm hoping I can be that person he trusts. I partly think Stan is to blame for Ryan's moodiness…they really haven't been that close in years, ever since David started showing top-flight athletic promise. I don't want to say that I've been "stuck" with Ryan, but … this wasn't in the plan. Stan was supposed to take Ryan and turn HIM into the athlete, and I was supposed to teach David interesting things about culture and normal life. Instead, the opposite is true, and I've got a miniature Stan acting like me.

Oy. Vey.

**-.-**

When I get home, I go straight up to Ryan's room. I know he'll be there, of course, because what else is he going to have done tonight with a lesbian date? Of course he's not going to get any, like his brother, so he will be in his room, just like any other night.

"Ryan?" I ask, knocking.

"The hell?" I hear him answer groggily.

"Ryan, it's me. I wanna talk to you." The door opens in my face as I prepare to open it myself.

"It IS past midnight, you realize," Ryan comments somewhat snidely, dressed only in pajama pants.

"I couldn't help that I had to stay there all four hours plus cleanup," I reply. "I need to talk to you about tonight."

He sighs and moves aside to let me in and walks to sit on his bed. I follow and sit next to him.

"I want to know what the hell's going on with you," I tell him. "I have four signs now that something's wrong with you, and since you apparently didn't listen and wouldn't tell me last time we talked, I'm here again, and neither of us wants there to have to be a next time."

"What are these 'signs that something's wrong with me'?" he asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes so he can pay attention.

"One and two are the combination of your change in style and the increasing depression of what you do in class and in your little club…I look at all of it, even the club stuff, and I don't particularly like the fact that it appears to be going even further downhill, towards depression and angst and a whole shitload of other things that are only going to make life an even greater hell for you than it is for normal people who pay no attention to any of that type of stuff that actually pervades their lives," I say, marking off two fingers. "Third is what I noticed two months ago, that you had been cutting. You told me that you were hurting and in pain, though from what I can only guess; and I'm _guessing_ that it has something to do with why you and David aren't talking to each other anymore. You DID promise me then that you wouldn't do that again, and as far as I know, you've kept that promise. You HAVE kept that promise, right?" I ask, marking off a third finger as he nods. "The last, and most recent sign, is what I saw tonight. I think everyone knows that Maria Bogdanova is a lesbian. Why would you take her to the prom?"

"It was a favor," Ryan tells me. "Neither of us could go with who we wanted to go with, so I talked it over with her, and we agreed that I would take her, and Danny would take her partner. I think that lucky bastard even got a threesome out of it, her partner's bi too…"

"Wait a minute…Jess Chandler is Maria's partner?"

"You didn't know? They've been lezzing out in the second-floor girls' bathroom for two months!"

"I rarely leave the basement," I point out.

"Right, but…still, you didn't know?"

"Jess draws the pinkest, most girly things I've seen in twenty years!" I exclaim. "She is so not the type!"

"That's why Maria's the dominant one."

"How do lesbians have doms?"

"Someone's gotta do the scissoring, and someone's gotta take the scissoring. Maria does the scissoring, Jess just leans back and moans her name."

"How the hell would you know this?" I ask, thinking perhaps we should have Kenny around the house less often.

"She talks about it at club. Kinda bragging, really. And that Russian accent of hers only makes it greater."

"You're turned on by the accent of a Russian lesbian?"

"Ergh, no?" he retorts. "Neither of those girls turns me on."

"You said you only went with her because neither of you could go with who you wanted to…we've established that Maria wanted to go with Jess…who did _YOU_ want to go with?"

"David," he replies.

"David as in…"

"My gorgeous, adorable, athletic, utterly sexalicious twin brother David." Gorgeous? Adorable? Athletic? Utterly sexalicious? His TWIN BROTHER DAVID!?! What the HELL?

"I assume you've got a good reason for using adjectives like that on your brother…" I lead, hoping it's a DAMN good reason.

"I wouldn't exactly call it a GOOD reason," he mutters.

"Well?" I ask. "Let's hear it, then."

"I've got a gay crush on my gorgeous, adorable, athletic, utterly sexalicious twin brother." Oh my holy fucking Moses. This is both terrible and a wonderful explanation for everything that's gone wrong with him these past few years.

"For the past three years?" I ask. He nods.

"Today, well, yesterday, now, was the 1128th day of it," he says. "I keep track every day in my journal."

"Is that what you've been wanting to tell someone for the past two months?" I ask.

"How did you know?" he asks. "Have you been reading my journal?"

"No, you just mutter to yourself while you write," I tell him. "Can I take this to assume that you hadn't managed to tell anyone?"

"Mainly because I couldn't figure out who to tell…" he says. "I mean, the priest knows the sound of my voice, he'd know who I was and have God smite me and send me to hell. There's no confidential way to tell your rabbi, I don't trust the school counselors, and David would kill me if I told him."

"Why didn't you wanna tell me or your Dad?"

"'Cause…I wasn't too sure how you'd react. I mean, I thought about just telling you that I was gay, but not who for, but then I figured you'd ask if I had any boy in mind and then I wouldn't be able to tell you, so…I just kept it to me some more."

"Is that the pain you were talking about last time we talked?" I ask, gently.

"Yes," he says. "God, it just hurts so fucking much. He's RIGHT ACROSS THE HALL from me, we're BROTHERS, for Christ's sake, and we haven't talked in at least a year, and we haven't been on good terms with each other since … fuck, since I first realized my feelings for him. One of the first few days after, I screamed at him when he kept going ON and ON about Katie…Katie this, Katie that, and I wanted him for myself, and I just couldn't handle it anymore…" he tells me softly. "And the fucking moron thinks, because I get so pissy any time he starts talking about his relationship with her, that _I_ want her for myself. What the fuck would make him think that? Just because she expressed an interest in me when we were in FOURTH FUCKING GRADE, ignoring the fact that I was absolutely disgusted by this, he thinks that five years later I'm gonna turn around and go 'OMG I'm such a moron, David, go the fuck away, I wanna bang your girlfriend so hard she starts walking funny.' Why am I in love with an idiot, Pops?"

"I was the same way with your Dad once…" I say. "It was with his first fiancée, a stupid, bitchy whore named Wendy Testaburger. He ALWAYS accused me of wanting to be with her after she dumped him when _we_ were in fourth grade, even though I made it perfectly clear that I had NO such interest in the bitch."

"But…can you make it stop? Can I get over him?"

I sigh…this is exactly what I hoped _wasn't_ the problem. "I don't know, Ryan, I honestly don't. We can try a couple of things, but … I don't know how successful they'll be, if they are at all. If you've had it for this long, it's not something that's going to just go away…it'll take work."

"I just want it to stop…if I can't have him, I don't want to have to fantasize about having him," he says, pleadingly. "I want to move on…at least get to a point where I can talk to him again without having to worry that I'll let something slip about how I want what he keeps in his pants. I'll do whatever it takes!"

"Alright…I'll start thinking, but I think the best thing we can do right now is just keep talking with each other. We can pick a night, or you can just come to my room, my office, or my studio whenever you feel the need."

"I like the second option best," he says. "Cuz I don't know if I'll just have an urge to talk, and I don't wanna have to put it off…because I might not get it back when it's 'time.'"

"Alright…I'll let you try to get back to sleep, Ryan. We'll get you and David back together in some form, no matter what, I promise you. By the time you graduate from high school, you'll have your brother back."

"I'd love that, Pops," he says, softly. "Goodnight," and he reaches up to give me a hug, just like he was a little boy again, and I return as he swings back under his covers, which I pull up to his chin, just like he was a little boy again.

"Goodnight, Ryan," I say, closing his door and heading to my room, where Stan's already asleep as I change into my pajamas and crawl in next to him. The last thought on my mind before I nod off is "_How the hell am I going to fix THIS?_"

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: Yay, confession chapter!!! Yay, non-Ryan-POV chapter!! If you liked, don't forget to leave a review! I thrive on those things, you know…and I WILL do something special for my 100****th**** reviewer.**

**Until next week,**

**Phoenix II**


	24. Insistence

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Twenty-Three: Insistence_

**Disclaimer: Not miiiiiiiine.**

**Summary: Kyle tries to turn Ryan's interests away from David. The result?**

**Author's Notes: This story has now received over 100 reviews. I love you all. Serially. Hugs and love to each and every one of you, even those of you who have reviewed multiple times. That just means you get more hugs and love! Oh, and Zak...let me know when you decide what you want for nabbing 100.**

**-.-**

**May 9, 2026**

**South Park, CO**

**8:28 P.M.**

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

"Hey Pops?" I ask, knocking on his door. "You busy? I wanted to run something by you." We've been talking for the past couple weeks, going over my feelings about David, trying to understand why I have them. I haven't told him the real reason I first thought about my brother doing those things to me, but I don't think it'll be long before I end up telling him.

"I'm not too busy to listen to you," he says, setting down a tablet PC on his desk. "What're you thinking?"

"I was kinda wondering if I should try going on a date with someone, see if I can muster up an interest in other boys, not just David," I say. Ever since I told Pops, I've been a lot less moody. I let him take me for a haircut a week ago, and I look pretty much like I did back in eighth grade, before I developed my David-obsession. I'm taller and thinner and still wear my "scene" clothes, but otherwise I look just like I did three years ago. He's even promised to take me for my license exam next week.

Pops pauses. "I think that would be a great idea, if you can find someone to take and somewhere to take him…"

"Well…I guess it's not _really_ a date," I say. "Kind of a not-quite-a-date, because the person I have in mind would _definitely_ take it the wrong way if I said it was a date."

"Enough stalling, Ryan…who's this other guy?"

"Danny. You can see why it's best he think it's nothing more than just hanging out with me?" I ask.

"Ah. Yes, yes I can. He'd be begging to hump your leg before the date was half over. Where are you planning to take him?"

"There's a big music festival thing going down in Denver at the end of the month. One of our favorite bands is headlining the thing and is playing the Sunday night main stage, so I figured that'd be a good place to go," I say.

"Alright…that band that just released that new album you begged your Dad to buy you?"

"Yeah, that one."

"Ah. They're not that bad of lyricists…"

"You've listened?"

"A couple of songs when you left my car radio set to your favorite rock station."

"Ah. Can I ask a favor, though?"

"What kind of favor?"

"I don't want mosh pit tickets to the thing, but that's all I can afford."

"I think I see where you're going with this…where's it being held?"

"At and around Mile High."

"I definitely see where you're going with this. You want the skybox, don't you?" We have a skybox at Mile High because Dad persuaded Pops to shell out for the thing to use for both work AND pleasure. He typically takes the entire team to the season opener and closer, plus a playoff game if the Broncos advance that far, basically to show off people he coached at Colorado, who are now mostly on coaching staffs of opposing teams, and at SPHS, which are quite a few actually. Pops gets dragged off for the odd "romantic weekend" spontaneously twice a season.

"Yeah…" I admit.

"Are they even selling skybox tickets for this event?" he asks, and I hand him a printout from Ticketmaster about the Sunday night show at the festival indicating that yes, they are selling skybox tickets for this event. Though they ARE $150 each.

"Jesus!" he exclaims when he gets that far. "Alright then…but this is my belated birthday present to you. I'll even throw in a parking pass and a $200 limit on food service. Make up for it?"

"Fuck yes!" I exclaim. Although it'll mean a little more work for me in convincing Danny that it's not a date.

"Alright, I'll take care of it tomorrow. You gonna take Danny's car?"

"Yeah, probably," I say, still elated that Pops is interested enough in seeing me happy again to the tune of at least $500 bucks. I have the best parents in the world, I swear.

-.-

**May 30, 2026**

**Denver, CO**

**7:10 P.M.**

**-.-**

"How the hell did you persuade your Pops to let us watch the show from here?" Danny asks me, mouth agape as I slide one of the windows open to allow the sound from one of the opening bands to filter in.

"He wants me happy again," I say, picking up a menu for food service and handing another to Danny. "Pick as much as you want, as long as the total is less than $200."

"Dude…this is so fucking awesome!" he exclaims, grabbing it hungrily and selecting a one-pound steak, a baked potato, Texas toast, a two-liter bottle of Coke, a pound of grapes, fish sticks, and a small bucket of chicken wings, basically, enough for a meal tonight and enough to smuggle home to feed him for a week. For myself, I pick chicken nuggets, French fries, garlic bread, and a two-liter bottle of Pepsi, because I'm well-fed at home. The total comes to around one-fifty, so there's a little left for dessert before the end. I collect the list and place the order, and am told that the food will be up before the headliner takes the stage.

Telling the person on the other end that I understand and that's alright, I hang up and join Danny on the couch. I think I would make an attempt at cuddling closer to him, if it wasn't for the fact that this wasn't a date…and that Danny's no David. I sigh to myself, and try to get caught up in the music and put all thoughts of my romantic disaster out of my head. Unfortunately, as good as this group is, my mind still wanders, wondering if I _could_ make it work with Danny. I mean…he's really NOT the worst-looking guy in the world. He's pretty good looking, except for the fact that most of his muscle definition is caused by malnutrition. He's my height and he weighs thirty pounds less than I do, and my doctor says I'm only a couple of pounds from being underweight. But the real problem here, putting aside the fact that he's not circumcised, is blonde, and is not anything close to a star athlete, is the fact that I would have to put him in a red Afro wig just to allow myself to kiss him.

Now, Danny appreciates kink a little more than the average guy, at a level on par with Dad and Pops' recollections of Uncle Kenny as a teenager, but I still don't think he'd be up for wearing a red Afro wig every day just for the prospect of hot boisex. He loves his hair. And I love it too…it's really shiny and silky-looking, but it's not David's rough red curls. And that's what I REALLY love. I could write poetry about my brother's hair. I could write poetry about every part of his body, from his hair to his feet. And I have. I have a collection of poetry about his body on my computer. I let Pops read it soon after I told him, because it's really key to understanding how bad I have it for my brother.

He nudges me out of my mental wanderings to tell me that the food's come. I didn't even notice him leaving to answer the door. I mutter an "OK" to his smiling face, with a sexy grin on it, and go to pick up my nuggets and fries and Pepsi. There're glasses in a cabinet, an icemaker in the built-in fridge, and ketchup as well. I squirt some over my nuggets and fries, pour some of the Pepsi into a glass of ice and return to the couch as our favorite band takes the stage. Danny's already finished with his potato, amazingly, the thing was huge; and is working his way through his steak, in between throwing grapes out at the poor bastards in the mosh pit.

"Hey, dude, don't do that," I chide him half-heartedly, popping a nugget into my mouth and following it up with a swig at Pepsi. The lead singer is done with his introductions and "It's so nice to be in X City at Y Venue tonight"s, and the band launches into their set.

Thankfully, they're playing music from that latest album, the one I begged Dad to buy me. It _is_ enough to distract me from my romantic disaster. I get caught up in the music, and all thoughts of David are pushed from my head, as I am reduced to flowing with the music, and slowly eating my food, until it all runs out, even the garlic bread, which I mainly got to dissuade Danny from kissing me. You never know, he could be a vampire!

We send for dessert, nothing much, just ice cream sundaes, but it allows me to cool my jets over David. And enjoy the end of the concert, and walking back to Danny's car, and trying to enjoy the ride home.

The ride is silent except for the radio. Danny's concentrating on the road, and I'm just staring at the window at not much of anything, really, because you can't see shit at night from a car window, and thinking of how much it sucks that I'm in the car with a perfectly good-looking boy that any other gay teen would kill to have a chance with, a boy that would probably not think twice about entering a relationship with me, even if _I_ knew it would be doomed, that it wouldn't _really_ be a relationship, because his eyes would always be on other people's and my heart would always belong to someone else. It would ruin our friendship, and I would lose the last person from our youthful foursome that I had any close ties with whatsoever. I've lost David and Katie…rather, I've lost David _because of_ Katie, so when he went, she did too. Losing Danny would be…all kinds of suck. And yet, at the same time, something that should drive me even closer to him, something that should be pushing me to enter into a relationship with him … that something is missing.

My experiment failed.

It was doomed, really, from the start.

I still love and want to be with David.

God fucking damn it all…what next?

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: This chapter took for-fucking-EVER to write. I started it at 7:30 with the titles and disclaimer and the things in bold at the top. It is now 10:47 as I type these endnotes out.**

**Alrighty…other notes from me: I'm thinking about writing a little addendum to each chapter starting with chapter 25, as little snippets about how life is going for David right now. And no, it won't be angsty insights saying that he's gay for Ryan too.**

**Also, I'm starting a project that will run for the whole of September, called "Wake Me Up When September Ends" that will be updated daily with a new oneshot inspired by the Merriam-Webster Word of the Day.**

**Until next week, **

**Phoenix II**


	25. Impressions

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Twenty-Four: Impressions_

**Disclaimer: They. Are. Not. Mine. Except for the youths. They are. No others.**

**Summary: Stan finds out.**

**Notes: Well, a lot of you have been wondering where Stan's been here, and why Kyle's been having to take care of Ryan. I hope this chapter answers your questions.**

**-.-**

**June 1, 2026**

**South Park, CO**

**12:17 P.M.**

**-.-**

**Stan's POV**

**-.-**

I'm working on final grades for my P.E. classes when Kyle comes into my office. I hope it's something that'll give me a good distraction from this shit. I've spent my first five hours totaling demerits throughout my classes, and I'm just about to the point where I can go in and apply them to grades. Bleh, I swear one of these days I'll change the P.E. grading scale. It shouldn't be this goddamn complicated! The class is basically show up, change clothes, run three laps, play a sport, run three laps, shower, change clothes, and leave. I should be able to just treat each task like an assignment, equally weighted. The only holdup is the fact that the school board won't let me install closed-circuit cameras in the showers so that I can take a headcount of who all did that assignment. Something about pedophilia concerns, and how most of the newer parents in the district are still uncomfortable with my sexuality. You can imagine my disappointment when I hear the first words out of his mouth.

"We need to talk," he says, quite seriously.

"What's up?" I ask, turning to face him.

"It's Ryan. He's got a problem."

"But he got his haircut, he's started at least looking normal again," I protest. I had assumed that Kyle had been able to fix whatever had been wrong with my boy and that all was good now. He's still dressing funny, but a lot of kids here dress like that, so I put it aside. Of course, he still isn't talking to his brother…

"That's not what was wrong with him!" Kyle snaps, shutting and locking the door to my office behind him.

"Oh?" I ask. "Then what was?"

"He's gay, and it's partially our fault," my husband tells me.

"He is? Really? I've never seen him with anyone…" I say. "Wait…a couple of nights ago, that concert trip he went to with Danny, was that…a date?"

"Not really…Ryan went in with the mindset that it was, but he didn't tell Danny because … well, would YOU want Danny thinking you have an attraction to him?"

"No," I reply. "I've had to break up an incident with that once this year in the showers, and that's quite enough."

"What?" Kyle asks.

"Danny was getting shit about being thin after class, and made some sort of smart comment to one of the people razzing him, and apparently the guy told Danny to blow him, and he did. Well, tried to at least."

"Goddamn bisexuals…" Kyle muttered. "Worse than Kenny, I swear…"

"You were saying, though?" I ask, trying to get him back on track. "That it wasn't really a date with Danny? Who's he with, then?"

"He's not with anyone," he tells me. "He _wants_ to be with someone, he wants it really, really badly, but we're both pretty sure that the object of his affections isn't interested in him that way."

"Well who is it?"

"David."

"David as in…?"

"David as in his gorgeous, adorable, athletic, utterly sexalicious twin brother David," Kyle responds. "His words, not mine."

"And you said this was partially _OUR_ fault?" I ask, incredulously. Kyle nods. "How!? How in the Hell can you hold _us_ responsible for this?"

"After the disaster with Danny, Ryan woke me up to tell me that it didn't work, he couldn't be with anyone but David. And then he told me why he first _became_ attracted to his brother."

"I'm listening," I tell him.

"He saw me do you. Redhead doing ravenhead. And it turned him on. And he's had dreams every night since of getting fucked by his brother. REALLY vivid dreams. They're perfect down to the last detail, down to the last bead of sweat trickling down David's face, and sliding down Ryan's chest. And David's face is always hidden until Ryan gets pulled up for a kiss, which happens right before he wakes up and has to change his sheets. He's got it bad…really bad. He told me he wouldn't be attracted to Danny unless he put on a red Jewfro wig."

"But…but…that's incest!" I exclaim.

"Brilliant, Stan," Kyle deadpans. "Of _course_ it's fucking incest, and at the same time it's NOT, and at the same time, there's no good reason why we shouldn't _encourage_ Ryan's attractions."

"Kyle, you'd better have a _damned_ good, non-pedophiliac reason for wanting our sons to get together like that," I tell him, a hint of anger in my voice.

"I do, actually," he says, drawing himself up, as if in defense of my hinted at allegations of pedophilia, even though our boys ARE 16 now…so I guess if they gave consent…never mind.

"Let's hear it then," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

"It's technically NOT incest because they don't share the same last name. David's a Broflovski, Ryan's a Marsh. Biologically they're brothers, but legally they're not. Also, even if you DO want to call it incest, and you might, you're just that Catholic, there's nothing bad that can come from it," Kyle says, and it certainly does sound like he's put a lot of thought into this.

"Incest is proven to cause all kinds of genetic mutations!" I retort. "Down's Syndrome, extra fingers, mental retardation, Redneck, hemophilia, a couple varieties of palsy, and all sorts of other deformities!"

"In the offspring of the incestuous couple! Do you honestly think either of those boys is going to start popping out children?"

"No…" I admit. "So…you're saying that in the eyes of the law, our twin sons getting together would be completely legal because they're technically from different families, and none of the typical side-effects to incestuous sex would apply anyway because they can't reproduce."

"One reward romp for you!" Kyle says, snapping his fingers. "Hit the nail right on the head."

"OK, so … is this all that's been wrong with Ryan? He doesn't have testicular cancer or webbed feet or anything else bad, does he?" Kyle laughs.

"Not that I've seen…and I'd imagine that Ryan does plenty of self-examinations of his balls. So, we can put up a united front on this?"

"That we should get our boys together? Yes, yes we can. But how? This isn't exactly the sort of thing you talk about at the dinner table…unless you're going to duct tape and handcuff David to his chair that you've bolted to the floor."

"There's no way Ryan would be up for such a brazen declaration either, no matter how much it hurts him to keep it a secret," Kyle says. "That'll probably be the hardest part of this whole thing, getting Ryan to tell David."

"Definitely…but only if David's interested too, otherwise it's going to fall flat on its face."

"Point taken," Kyle says. "So … what're we gonna do about this?"

"Well, it _is_ partly our fault, apparently, so we have to figure out some way…let's just think on it and talk about it again tonight. After you give me my reward romp."

He glares at me. "Only you would be able to put sex before your children's happiness."

"Not true, my Dad could too. And did. Frequently."

"You're a Marsh then," he replies, with a wry grin.

"Damn right! You'll feel my inheritance tonight, too!"

"Wouldn't miss it," he says, eyes twinkling as he opens the door.

"Alright then…way to give me motivation to finish these goddamned grades."

"No problem, Stanley dear," he says, walking out in a way that forces me to stare at his ass. It's not quite a sashay, but it's still sexy as hell and makes me instantly want him…

Needless to say, I have to shut my office door again and delay finishing my grades by about fifteen minutes.

**-.-**

**Notes: Yeah…getting into the plotheavy part! Sorry for the short chapter, but this one and the next don't really have a lot to go in them…necessary stuff, but not a lot of it. **

**And now, I'd like to let you know that David WILL be sharing his thoughts on the final five chapters. Whether or not he'll be doing them here in little "interludes" uploaded the day after a new chapter or on my deviantART journal is yet to be determined.**

**Also, I'd like to plug my new daily update fic for the month of September. It's got a pretty wild plot right now, and we're only seven days into the month! Let's hope I can control it before the end of the month!**

**Until next week,**

**Phoenix II**


	26. Investigations

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Twenty-Five: Investigations_

**Disclaimer: Not miiiiiiiiiiiine.**

**Summary: Stan is sent on assignment. Is it Mission: Impossible?**

**Notes: David's first journal will appear in this chapter.**

**-.-**

**June 3, 2026**

**South Park, CO**

**9:39 A.M.**

**-.-**

**Stan's POV**

**-.-**

I feel like an idiot. First day of summer practice and Kyle's got me on a "secret mission." He wants me to find out if there's any chance, whatsoever, that David would possibly be interested in a romantic relationship with his brother. And I have pretty much no idea how. How do you do something like that? Obviously you don't go up and ask him: "Hey David, my star quarterback, how would you feel about fucking your twin brother senseless because he's wanted you to for three years?" You just don't.

I could wait until they're all in the showers after practice to try and peek in and see if he's staring at the other boys, but that's somewhat perverted of me. And another reason why I need that closed circuit system installed.

Think, Stan, think, damnit…oh! I can try and get kids talking to David _about_ Ryan, and then try and gauge his reaction from that! That'll work…but how to do it…how to do it…

Drills! That's it! Our tight end position is really weak this year…I'll run drill that'll embarrass Ricky to death but get the rest of the team wishing for a better player in the position. Hopefully one or two of them will remember how well David and Ryan played together in pee-wee football and ask David about his brother.

-.-

**11:00 A.M**

**-.-**

I blow my whistle to bring an end to the morning's drills.

"Alright, everyone, hit the showers, I'll see you back here at one for a team meeting!" I call, jogging off ahead of the rest of the team, because first it keeps me in shape, and second because I need to be in the locker room ahead of them all. So that I can mike up one of David's spare sets of pads. So I can listen to what he's saying over there.

As the sound of tired cleated feet comes from the hallway, I turn on the transmitter and scamper off to my office, waiting and hoping for something, anything, as I turn on my receiver and listen to David opening the locker.

"Dave!" Jason Harris says, and I hear him smacking my son's pads in that friendly way that all football players greet each other. "Dude, what are we going to do about Ricky? He sucks!"

"I heard that Harris!" the slighted teen shouts back. "Just because I'm new to this doesn't give you permission to slam me." Rick, you're just asking for a hazing. Practically begging. You're gonna end up duct taped to the goal post at this rate.

"Shut up yourself!" Jason shouts back. "Dude, David, seriously…"

David sighs. "I dunno. Dad really likes the tight end position –" he starts to say, but is interrupted.

"Gee, I wonder why the gay guy likes tight ends…" Someone trying to be funny. I've heard it before, but … Mr. Nose Tackle Devon's gonna be running a few extra laps for that one. He needs to trim down anyway. David sounds annoyed when he continues, "But you're right, Rick's just not going to do a good job there."

"Didn't your brother do a kick-ass job at tight end?" someone asks, and I rack my brain to identify the voice. Freddy Thomas, you're running three fewer laps today.

"Yeah…" a wistful sigh. Wait, a wistful sigh? What does _that_ mean!?

"Do you think he'd come back and play this season? We really need a decent tight end, Middle Park's developed a hell of a run defense this season. They stole half of North Park's line to do it, but they have it, I promise," Jason asks.

"I dunno…" David says, sounding really…defeated. "I don't think that he would. Yeah, we kicked ass as a QB-TE pair when we were kids, but I think he hates me now and we never talk anymore…" Oh, David, if only you knew…

"Can't you at least try it? Wouldn't it mean a bit more coming from you, than if your Dad tried to shove him back into uniform?"

"I guess…but I just really can't see him accepting the offer. I'll make it, but … don't take it to the bank, I guess is what I'm trying to say," David says.

"Cheer up, man," Rick says. "Just don't make him think that you're doing it just so you can win another championship. If you make it sound like that, like you're only doing it for yourself, he won't, but –" Again an interruption, but this time it's from Rick being dragged outside. Goddamn smart ass.

The conversation pretty much stops there, and I switch off the receiver so I don't have to listen to David undressing, showering, and redressing.

Soon enough he knocks on my door and tells me he's headed home. I nod and tell him I need to finish something up and that I'll be home by noon. He nods and shuts the door. I pull out my cell and dial Ryan's.

"_Dad?_"

"Ryan, listen, this is important."

"_Kay…what's up?_" he asks.

"David's going to be talking to you sometime today."

"_Really!?_" he asks, somewhat excited. "_What about?_"

"I'll let him tell you that. But I just want you to keep an open mind about it, alright. And don't automatically say yes. As much as it would make him happy. Think about what he says, alright?"

"_Kay…_" he says. "_Do you know when today?_"

"It could be when he gets home, it could be sometime after practice tonight. Probably tonight, he's gonna want to phrase it right, from what I heard."

"_Thanks, Dad. It'll at least be nice to be talking with him again…_" I think David feels the same on that regard at least. He sounds like he really misses interacting with his brother.

"I think you're not the only one that's missed that. I'll talk to you later, son."

"_Alright. Bye, Dad._"

"Bye, Ryan." And I hang up. I need to go home and talk to Kyle about this.

**-.-**

"Well, what did you get?" Kyle asks, dragging me into his office when I get home. "David got home a few minutes ago and went straight to his room, didn't even grab a bite to eat."

"He's going to offer Ryan a spot on the team," I say.

"…I don't see how this is useful, Stan," Kyle says.

"It's going to be the first time they've talked in God only knows how long!" I exclaim. "Ryan knows it's going to happen, I told him already, but neither of us know when. I'm guessing he's trying to get straight what he's going to say to his brother before he goes to talk to him."

"I guess that IS a step in the right direction," my husband muses. "Did you find anything that might mean David's interested in Ryan?"

"Sorry…I think he really misses him, but I don't know if that means he'd like to make sweet love to him…"

"Oh well," Kyle says. "The plan goes ahead as…planned…"

**-.-**

**David's Journal**

**-.-**

_Dear Diary,_

_I miss Ryan. He's still here, but he's not close to me. We haven't spoken in years. That's not right. I'm gonna change it today. I'm gonna talk to him, but I don't think he's going to like what I have to say. What if I make things worse between us? What if he starts eating meals at a different time from me, avoids me altogether? But, at the same time, that's hardly much different from what's not happening now. I still don't know what set him off back then. It's obviously not Katie, he hasn't done anything with any girl except that lesbian he took to prom, and I still don't understand why he did_ that_, but I really miss him. I want to hang out with my brother again, just like I did for the first fourteen years of our lives. I just hope he says yes…we're a great team._

_If he doesn't … and I don't know why he would, artsy kids don't really like football … I hope he at least will still talk to me…_

_David_

_Feeling sad_

**-.-**

**8:29 PM**

**-.-**

**David's POV**

**-.-**

I knock lightly on the door to Ryan's room, which is shut, like it has been for the past three years. I never really see him anymore, and it's only been the past month or so that he's looked like he did before all this … estrangement happened. It was really painful to see him looking like … well, like one of those freaky emokids that hang around Pops' art room. I'm glad he's cleaned up his act a little…

"Come in," he says, and the voice warms me up inside a little. It sounds more mature than the puberty-stricken voice prone to squeaking I last heard.

"Ryan? It's me," I say, opening the door and catching my first glimpse of his room in years.

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

Oh, my GOD, that voice…God, it's so sexy, and he's not even trying. My nerves on fire, I look up from my computer and try to compose myself as I turn to look at him. Fuck…it's around a baritone, maybe a low tenor, level, smooth, but there's a hint of nervousness in his inflection. He doesn't want to fuck this up … I don't want him to fuck it up either. Even if he doesn't want to fuck ME, I at least want to talk to him again. To reconcile, settle differences that are petty at best and most likely nonexistent.

"Hey," I open up with.

**-.-**

**David's POV**

**-.-**

Why's he so good at hiding his feelings? He's gotta be just as nervous as I am about this…

"Hey," I reply. "I wanna ask you something."

"What is it?"

"Well…we've got a problem on the team. Our tight end kinda really sucks at his position. He's a converted cornerback, and we don't have anyone who's really good at the position…"

"Kay…" he says, kinda confused. "What's this got to do with me?"

"Well, Dad's offensive scheme really centers around that position. It's the really important one, whether making critical blocks or running the preferred route, and a couple of the guys and I were talking about when we were kids…all this time that I've been quarterbacking the team, I never really had a better tight end than you, dude."

"I think I see where you're going this," he says. "But, please, continue."

"I looked up my stats this afternoon. Even when we had Jeremy playing tight end, my sophomore year and I had my highest pass completion percentage, I still didn't throw as many good passes as I did in that one game I did with you. Jeremy may be good enough to start at Colorado State, but he didn't have a connection with me that seemed to let him _know_ where I was going to throw the ball."

"But that was just one game…" Ryan says. "You have good games and bad ones, everyone does…"

"We were that good in practice, too. Once we got into the rhythm, we just clicked. It didn't take long, either. You can argue as much as you want that you've been away for too long, that you've missed out on too much, but if I took you down to the field tonight and spent an hour with you just playing catch, I bet it'd be like you'd never missed a day."

"Is that a challenge, David?" he asks, a gleam in his eye.

"You can call it a challenge if you'd like," I say.

"You're on!" he says. "And if you're right about us being close enough to make up seven years in one hour, I'll be your tight end."

"Really!?" I exclaim. He nods. "I'll go get my keys. Erm…you might wanna change into something a little sportier…" I say, indicating his jeans and sweatshirt.

"Heh…I've got my gym clothes, that's pretty much it…"

"They'll do. Cleats?"

"No…" he admits. "At least, none that would fit me anymore."

"What size do you wear?"

"8."

"You can wear my last year's pair. They're 8 and a half, but if you lace 'em tight enough you won't notice," I tell him.

"Thanks," he says, blushing a little.

"No problem. Meet you downstairs!"

"OK!" he says, as I head back to my room to get the athletic footwear. That went way better than I could have imagined.

We meet downstairs and I tell Dad that I'm taking Ryan to the field to throw the ball around. Our parents exchange somewhat shocked glances before Dad tosses me his keys to get through the gate and to turn on the lights.

**-.-**

**9:45 PM**

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

I walk back to David at the 35, ball tucked under my arm. I'm not winded, hardly at all, even though the only running I've done since fourth grade was recreational jogging to stay in shape.

"Well?" he asks. "How was that?" For the first fifteen minutes I was sure I would win this little challenge, we were both incredibly off. But then I began to pick up on a couple of his signs, really unchanged from our pee-wee days, and a couple of things I noted from the stands when I could be dragged to a game, and we started clicking again, like a well-trained pair.

"You win. You have yourself a tight end."

"Well thank you," he says. "_Buns of Steel_," he jokes. "Does wonders."

"Smartass," I say, tossing the ball at him.

"You've missed it and you know it."

"Yeah…I really have, actually. Does this mean I'm gonna have to start getting up at oh-dark-thirty for practice?"

"Nah. You're a senior. We get to skip the early morning drills," David replies. "We don't have to be here until 9:30 for the rest of camp, and just at 7:15 for weights during school. Though I don't doubt you already knew that."

"I'm the son of the coach, how would it look if I didn't?" I reply, faking a scandalous look.

"Pretty bad. Come on, let's get home…" I follow gladly. My muscles are pretty sore, but it's a good sore, and it's totally worth it. These three years have evaporated in less than an hour and a half, and my seven years out of football have evaporated in a little over an hour. Maybe things are really going to turn around for me. Maybe this year'll be good for me…

"You're gonna have to eat more though…" David points out. "Dad'll put you on two weeks of steak and ice cream, plus a muscle-building weight regimen. You need about twenty more pounds or so, so you can handle blocking the defensive ends and cornerbacks."

"Shouldn't be too much of a problem," I say. "Everyone says I need to eat more, though…"

"You _are_ a bit stringy," he says. "And you need a little muscle definition too. You'll have girls all over you if you chisel up a bit…your biceps are alright, but you could use a bit more on your abs and pecs to get them to form the Ryan Marsh Fan club."

"You wouldn't get jealous of the competition?" I tease.

"Please…just please don't take the cheerleaders!" he pleads, somewhat facetiously. "I'll let you have the Dance Team and the Marching Band, just don't take the cheerleaders from me!"

I laugh. "Deal." We pull up in the driveway and walk inside. Dad's waiting for us anxiously, and appraises our sweat-drenched shirts with a questioning look.

"You can put Rick back on defense," David tells him. "It's like he never left…" I can tell Dad's holding back a whoop, a holler, and a fist-pump.

"It's alright, let it out," I tell him, and he does all three.

"Did David tell you what you're going to have to do?"

"Yeah…steak, ice-cream, and weightlifting for the next two weeks, and he let me know what time practices are gonna be."

"You don't mind giving up your summer to help us out?"

"I wasn't really gonna be doing much of anything anyway…mainly ruin my eyesight by spending twelve hours a day on Warcraft slaughtering noobs, maybe a little drawing. This is gonna be much more fun."

"And you can slaughter noobs anyway when we play Conifer," David jokes, and we all laugh.

"Be there at 9 tomorrow morning, Ryan. David'll help get you pads and a uniform and everything."

"Yes sir," I say.

"Now, bed for the both of you. But shower first, you've worked up quite a sweat!"

"That we have…" I say. "Dibs!" and I run up the stairs, motivated by my excitement. This is a new beginning for me. And besides…football showers'll give me a chance to do some "checking out." I chuckle as I beat David to our bathroom (Dad and Pops have the master bathroom) and lock him out, stripping out of my sweaty clothes and quickly showering.

Sleep comes quickly, and for once, I don't dream of my brother. Maybe the dreams only stuck because I was distancing myself from him, and now that we're back close again, they'll go away. That would make all this even more worthwhile.

God, this is going to be FANTASTIC!

**-.-**

**Notes: Wow…I did not expect this chapter to get this long… Look for an update to "Sapphires and Morning Glory" later, and the start of the "R-word" chapters starting next week, with "Reconnaissance."**

**Phoenix II**


	27. Reconnaissance

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Twenty-Six: Reconnaissance_

**Disclaimer: If I owned South Park, I would NOT be waking up at 8:30 AM on a Saturday to march in the band.**

**Summary: They're talking again. Does anything good come from it?**

**Notes: Thankfully, after this week I only have to write two more chapters. Now you ask, but aren't there thirty chapters in this story? Would that only make twenty eight? Yes. But I have already typed up chapters twenty-eight and twenty-nine. Which is good, because I will be busier than a squirrel during nut-burying season those weeks.**

**-.-**

**April 16, 2027**

**South Park, CO**

**7:28 P.M.**

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

Why do I love straight boys so much? Anytime I get an interest in somebody, they end up straight. First it was David, who's still my main focus of attention, even if I'm getting better and better at ignoring it. Then, up until recently, it was – of all people – Jason Harris, Captain of the Defense, best linebacker in the state of Colorado, and my mortal enemy.

There's always been something funny about Jason. He's still a bit too homophobic to be normal. As far as I know, he's not planning on joining the priesthood, so why all the venom towards people who are openly like me? I wondered if he had been overcompensating for something. Then, I found out he hadn't. Because I caught him in the locker room after practice (working with the underclassmen who're gonna take our places in the fall) banging Katie in the showers. Yeah, Katie McKormick, David's girlfriend. I haven't told my brother yet, and neither Jason nor Katie knew I saw them.

Something's holding me back from telling David though. I don't want to have to put him through the hell of that. Part of me wonders if he'd be so distraught that he'd go gay for me. But then I feel guilty, because that would be under duress. I don't think that'd be a good way to start our relationship, if indeed there is going to be a relationship…

I'm standing outside Pops' office right now, hesitant to knock. I tell a lot of things to David, but for talks about private things like my (lack of a) sex life, I go to Pops, because he's the best advisor I have for such matters. Finally, I give in and knock.

"Come in," I hear, and I do so.

"Ryan? What's up?"

"I need some advice," I say, shutting and locking the door. "Extremely private, moral advice."

"What's the matter?"

"I caught Katie having sex with Jason in the showers this afternoon."

"…Your brother's girlfriend Katie?"

"One and the same."

"Are you sure they were fucking?" he asks.

"Up against the wall. Unless it's normal for a girl to scream out 'More, more, yeah, Jason, gimme more,' in between moans during an against-the-rules co-ed shower," I snark.

"But did you_ see_ it?"

"Just a peek. But there's no doubt about it. Katie's getting some on the side. I already know she turned David down to go to Prom."

"And you think she's just stringing him along for a while before she dumps him?"

"That's exactly what I think," I confirm. "And I don't know if I should tell him or not, because of my…situation."

"You think he'd consent to a pity fuck or something?"

"Or something," I agree. "But at the same time, to _know_ she's cheating on him and to not do anything about it…wouldn't that make it worse for him? Shouldn't he hear it from someone he's close to?"

"It might be for the best, Ryan," Pops says. "I say you tell him, but make sure you don't go anything beyond platonic comforting if he turns into a wreck."

"…OK…" I say. "But I just want to know that I'm kinda uncomfortable about it."

"Do you really want to have to hide two things from him?"

"…No…"

"Then tell him one or the other."

"Fine. And nothing too friendly."

"Right."

"Thanks Pops."

"No problem, Ryan." Then he returns to drawing on his tablet he has linked to his main computer and new Photoshop program. I get up and leave his office, heading down the hall to my brother's room, where the door is pulled-to, but not closed.

**-.-**

**David's Journal**

_Ryan's been a little skittish this evening. I think he's hiding something. I've been having a really bad week…Katie doesn't want to go to Prom with me, my backup quarterback (next year's starter!) can't throw the goddamn ball to save his life, I failed a quiz in Physics, got a C on a paper in English, and misconjugated an entire section of verbs on my Spanish test._

_I wonder what's up with Ryan now. I hope its nothing TOO bad._

_David_

_Confused_

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

I knock on my brother's door and push it open a little.

"David? Can I talk to you?"

"Yeah, sure, come in," he says, standing up from his desk. "What's up, bro?"

"I need to tell you something…and you're not gonna like it."

"Oh," he says, and sits down on his bed out of reflex, indicating a spot next to him for me to sit. "Is this why you've been so jumpy this evening?"

"I've been jumpy?" I ask. I didn't know I'd been jumpy…shit.

"Yeah, dude…like, kinda afraid to open your mouth."

"Well, if you knew what I was going to say, you'd understand why."

"Enough leading me on…tell me what you need to say."

"Katie's cheating on you," I blurt out. His eyes grow wide as saucers and his jaw drops open a little.

"No…no she's not…" he weakly replies. "How…what makes you think that?"

"I saw her fucking Jason in the showers this afternoon."

"What?!" he exclaims. "_JASON!?_ The person we like least in the whole entire fucking school _JASON!?_"

"Yeah…that Jason."

"D'you think…that's why she turned me down for Prom?"

"Yeah…I think she's gonna break up with you for him."

"Why? Why would she do that? We've been dating for…like…four years!"

"I know, David," I say, reaching out and putting an arm around his shoulders. "But…she's always been a bit of a slut, remember?"

"But…I loved her…" he says, and my heart sinks a little. "Why would she do this to me?"

"Aren't she and Jason going to State?" I ask. "Maybe she wants someone who can satisfy her any time, not just on weekends…"

"She couldn't fucking wait until summer!? She had to go around behind my back before even breaking up with me!?"

"Apparently she thought so…" I say softly. David shrugs my arm off and gets up.

"That fucking bitch! If I'm going to be cheated on by someone I love, I'm going to swear off love!"

My heart falls to my knees, but I don't let it show…I'm pretty sure coming out to him would have been easier than THIS.

"Dude…should I just let you work this out?"

"…Can you Deathmatch me in Halo?" he asks in response.

"You kick my ass at Halo," I point out.

"That's the point," he replies. "I'd rather break your avatar than half the things in this house."

"Good point," I concede, reaching for the game off a shelf above his bed.

**-.-**

Fifteen rounds and two hours later, I let David – who's battled himself to exhaustion – turn off the game console and go to sleep, while I walk back to Pops' office.

"Yeah?" he asks, and I enter.

"Bad. Shit. Just. Went. Down."

"Well what one did you tell him?"

"Katie. He doesn't want to love anymore!"

"That's ridiculous," Pops scoffs. "He'll come around…"

"He was still talking about it even after he kicked my ass 15 times in Deathmatch," I reply, like that's supposed to settle it.

"Tell him, then," Pops says. "It's now a win-tie situation, and I think that's as good as we're going to get from David."

"What the hell do you mean, win-tie?"

"The possibilities are thus: either David accepts your love and agrees to fuck you into the next decade, or he says no, I don't want any love from anybody."

"He could still say 'No, that's fucking disgusting and totally wrong,' punch me in the head, and throw himself off of a building," I point out. "I don't think that's a 'tie.'"

"Ryan, you have to. This is the best chance you're going to get."

"So? That doesn't mean I have to take it! I could let things go on like they are now. I'm comfortable living like this."

"But it could be better for you. This is the only way. You told me it felt better once I knew about it. Won't it feel even better to finally get that weight off your chest?"

"It's too big a risk," I point out.

"What's life without risk?" he replies. "Boring as all hell. It's a two-story house with a white picket fence, a normal-looking wife and two point five kids, a dog, and a minivan that you drive to your job filing papers from your cubicle on the fifth story of a nine-story building."

"But that's … normal, isn't it?" I ask.

"Normal is boring," he replies. "If you don't take a few risks, you end up hating yourself and losing all of your potential."

"But…" I try to protest, but I can't come up with anything to counter him.

"Tell him. Wednesday, your Dad has to take his Jeep in for an oil change and things after school. You two can walk home and you can tell him then."

"But, Pops…"

"Ryan, trust me. It'll all work out."

I sigh. I really should have told him a long time ago, but everything was just going so well…

"Goodnight, Pops."

"Good night, Ryan."

**-.-**

**Notes: Mmm…chaaaaaapter. Update to Sapphires and Morning Glory will follow this in around an hour. At least next week's an away game…**

**Phoenix II**


	28. Revelations

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Twenty-Seven: Revelations_

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Summary: As you may guess, Ryan reveals his feelings.**

**Notes: After I post this, I can take a two week break from writing this story. No, you'll still get the next two chapters on schedule. I already have them written! I'll be taking these two weeks to…work on school work, take midterm exams, and work on chapter 30.**

**-.-**

**April 21, 2027**

**3:30 P.M.**

**South Park, CO**

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

I don't know whether or not to be shocked that we had a freak snowstorm at the end of April that forced them to cancel school for two days. I don't know whether or not to be shocked that that snowstorm was followed by a heat wave that had us in jeans this morning only because there's still some snow out there. The storm put down two feet. It's down to almost nothing, and only after about 16 hours of exposure. Then again, sixteen hours of eighty degree heat would melt damn near anything, wouldn't it?

I stopped worrying about the strange things that happened around this town when Dad and Pops told us about some of the shit that went down here when THEY were kids. The thing that amazes and worries me most is that David hasn't been able to talk to Katie since I told him that she's been cheating on him. I don't know how they've managed to conduct a relationship without seeing each other at ALL during school, but they don't have a single class together, they don't have lunch together, and she never even shows up until pretty much RIGHT before the tardy bell in the mornings. We haven't seen her all day. David's got a lot of pent up rage towards this girl. He pounded one of the pillows in the guest room flat over the weekend. He pounded another one flat over the two days we had off. That girl is going to _get_ it. But we have yet to see her for enough time today.

That's all about to change though. I just saw the skank turn the corner, and David, who's walking next me, did too. He tenses up, because she's walking in a method to try to blend in, to not be seen. Fat chance of that, though dressed up like a whore and with a ratty, stringy curled hairstyle that looks like it belongs on Britney Spears for her latest "comeback attempt."

"Katie!" he calls out, and she freezes in her tracks as David runs up to her and I run behind. I know I shouldn't get involved in this. This isn't my problem, it's a private matter. But still, _someone_'s gonna have to stop him from beating the shit out of her cheating ass.

"Hi, David!" she says, putting on a cheery smile, but her eyes give her away. At least to me, who could double as a certified body-language expert after three years of searching my brother's appearance for hints of attractions towards men, and me specifically. She knows she's caught, that he knows. She doesn't know HOW he knows, because SHE didn't tell, and she highly doubts Jason did. She doesn't know I saw her. Neither does Jason. I have ninja skills.

"Don't give me that, bitch," he growls. "I know you're fucking Jason."

"I am not!" she protests, and attempts to put on a hurt and scandalized look.

"Someone saw you doing him in the showers Friday," my brother hisses.

"And who is this person that you trust more than your own girlfriend?" she asks.

"I'm right here," I say, stepping forward. "You skank…run around MY brother's back, will ya? How long have you been fucking him?" He doesn't deserve that. It doesn't strike me as I saw this that I would have not minded in the slightest had my dreams of the past few years been real and David had been running around HER back with ME.

"Six months," she mutters. David's looking REALLY angry…maybe one slap wouldn't hurt. No, no, one slap gets him detention, stop him. I have to tell him, and I'll be damned if I'm going to wait for him to get out of detention. If I have that much time to think about this, I'll chicken out. I know I will.

"You BITCH!" David shouts, attracting the attention of the hall full of students. "We're DONE!" And then I dart in to grab his hands and drag him away. He doesn't look like he would have just stopped at one slap. David looks like he could fucking KILL Katie. And again…I don't think I would really mind. I've never really liked the girl, she's always been intruding on my David-time. Maybe that's the real core of my attraction to him…he's never really been around, and I've had to pine for him, to fight for time with my own brother. I shouldn't have had to share him, and I had him first, Goddamnit!

"Six months!" he exclaims once we're out of sight. "SIX fucking MONTHS! How could she do that to me?"

"She's a skank, dude," I say, not releasing my grip on him until we're outside. "It's what they do." We walk about a block in silence.

"But…why Jason?" he asks. "Why him? She knows we hate him, why would she fuck HIM? Unless she was trying to get me to do something…but then, wouldn't she have let me known, so that I could maybe figure out what she wanted? What could she possibly want?"

"Dude, shut up about her," I say, grimacing. "Why do you care so much? You broke up with her, remember? You swore off love." And that's really the part that hurts me the most, the fact that you've made it almost impossible for me to think that I have a chance with you, romantically. I want to have that chance so badly, have wanted it for years.

"I just wanna understand!" he exclaims. "Wouldn't you, if someone YOU loved started fucking someone you hated?"

"I did understand," I say. "Someone I love was fucking someone I hated for the better part of two years." By the look on his face, I think he knows of at least the relationship that I refer to. No doubt he's going to get it completely wrong. He just doesn't understand things that aren't straight. It's why he doesn't hang much with Danny anymore unless I drag him along.

"But…I've been having sex with Katie for about that long. Oh, Dude! No way! I thought I had it all figured out! I thought you distanced yourself from me because you hated my relationship with her. Don't throw my world upside down now!"

"I'm probably going to anyway, but not for why you think," I say with a frown. "You were right. I DID hate your relationship with her. But not for the reason you think."

"Then why? If it wasn't because you wanted her for yourself, why?" he asks.

"I'll give you a hint. The reason she's fucking Jason is because he's got a pretty nice cock." Eight and a half inches, uncut, and medium thick. Jesus, no wonder Katie's fucking the boy. Contrast this with David, who's close-to-but-not-quite eight, cut, and on the thinner side of average, and me, who's seven and a half, uncut, and skinny.

He gapes at me.

"Did you just say what I think you just said?" he asks, incredulously.

"I said that Jason has a pretty nice cock," I repeat. He flinches, like he didn't want to hear it again.

"Yes. That."

"What about it?" I ask, innocently.

"You're GAY!?" he shrieks. It makes me glad we're on a block full of old people.

"Gee, shout it, why don't you?" Let the whole damn square block know.

"But…dude…Oh, God, no way…no, no, no, no, no, no. This is NOT happening." He laughs, the kind of laugh you normally only hear from crazy people.

"David, the reason I was upset to hear you say that you've sworn off love is because I love you. It's completely wrong, totally unnatural, but I am. I have been for the past four years. I love everything about you. Your hair, your eyes, your nose, your cheekbones, your muscular body, your perfect anatomy, I love it all. I'd never go for anyone else, brother."

"Dude…" The laugh again. "No fucking way."

"I've dreamt about you for three years. I'd stopped for a while, during football season, when I got my daily quota of picturing you naked in the locker rooms, and then for a while during basketball, but they've come back lately. Every night, you'd be in my dreams, making love to me. You were gentle, you were kind, you were slow, you were careful, and you were the best lover you could possibly be," I say.

"Ryan…God, please tell me you're kidding. Please…please, please, PLEASE don't be serious about this." He looks scandalized. He's as rigid as a propped up two-by-four.

"David, I am completely, totally serious."

"I'm going home," he says, after a pause. I'm not letting him run away from me.

"David," I say, reaching out with my right arm and grabbing on to his left, "I love you." I pull him in, with a strength that I'm sure surprises him, close my eyes, and release four years of desire in a kiss that makes me wish I HADN'T pulled him.

When I pull back, I look him over. His eyes are about to bulge out of their sockets. His right eyebrow is cocked, as is his upper lip, into a sort of sneer.

I…I blew it. I blew it. He hates me. "I'm sorry," I whisper, releasing him and running away. There's a copse of trees across the street, and I run for it. I run until I can't see David anymore. I run, without looking back, until I reach Stark's Pond.

When I finally do, I collapse into a heap at the water's edge. A tired, sweaty, broken, rejected heap. I manage to draw myself into a sort of a ball, with my arms around my knees, and I begin to cry.

I cry, and I cry, and I just wish the fucking world would just collapse on top of me, and swallow me whole. Pull me atom by atom into a black hole. Molecularly disintegrate me. Strike me dead where I sit. I don't want to live anymore.

I've totally fucked things up between my brother and me. One kiss. One. Stupid. Fucking. Goddamn. Kiss. Blew everything I've built this year into pieces. No, worse, detonated a nuclear bomb. Annihilated everything I've built this year. There's going to be no fixing this one…

Why did I listen to Pops?

**-.-**

**Notes: Oooh…what's going to happen next? I bet it's not what you think!**

**Phoenix II**


	29. Fracture

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Twenty-Eight__ – Fracture_

**Disclaimer: South Park isn't mine.**

**Summary: Erm…aftermath of last chapter? (Like, duh…)**

**Author's Notes: Well, nuts. I just realised I totally glossed over a subplot I had planned to put in with Butters in the last couple of chapters. As a result, you'll get a bit of it in the massive glut of updates that is next week's chapter 29.**

**-.-**

**April 21, 2027**

**South Park, CO**

**04:30 P.M.**

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

I should never have done it. I shouldn't have listened to Pops. These feelings have caused me nothing but trouble, to the point where my twin hates me and I can't even bring myself to look at my reflection in Stark's Pond.

All I am is what I'm made to do when I do look at my reflection – cast a rock in. The rock distorts my image with the initial "plop," and the resulting ripple effect does even more damage. A perfect analogy to my current situation. The plop came when I made my confession and dropped the rock of my feelings. The ripple effect is what must be taking place even now.

I'm a useless, good-for-nothing fag who wants his own brother. Pops said this might happen, and that I shouldn't worry about it. Well, guess what, Pops, I'm not going to listen to you and your so-called "advice." In fact, I'm going to make sure that neither you, Dad, nor David ever have to worry about me fucking up your lives ever again. I'm going to jump into this lake and never come up, at least…not come up alive.

There's a crackling of bramble behind me, but I don't turn to look.

"Go away," I say half-heartedly, but whoever it is doesn't listen. Instead, he, she, or it comes closer, and I stiffen when I feel the gun pressed against my spine.

"Nice'n'easeh, Jew-spawn," he, yes…I'm fairly certain it's a he, says, picking me up. "We'ah goin' for a little walk."

Oh, shit.

**-.-**

**David's POV**

I can't believe Ryan loves me. It's sick, wrong, twisted. Conflicting rhymes on the subject aside, I at least need to find him and bring him home to talk to Dad and Pops before he hurts himself.

He's probably at Stark's. That's where he usually goes when he wants to think. I alter my course, running through the sparse foliage after my brother, twin, and would-be lover.

I arrive just in time to see Ryan forced, at gunpoint, by a brown-haired man who looks capable of beating down "The Terminator," into a beaten-up pickup truck.

Oh, shit.

As the truck drives off, I run after it. By the low speed it's traveling at, it must be headed somewhere close by.

Less than two miles down the road, the truck pulls into the old public-access TV building. Crouching down behind a snow drift, I pull out my cell phone and call 911.

_"911 emergency, how may I help you?"_ the female voice answers. Panting, I gather my breath and reply.

"My name is David Broflovski, from South Park. My brother Ryan Marsh has been abducted by a man about six feet tall and really muscular and has been taken at gunpoint to the old public access TV building in an old pickup," I say.

_"Sir, do you have a license plate number on that truck?"_ the operator asks.

"Nine-Alfa-Five-Charlie-One-Echo," I answer.

_"OK, Mr. Broflovski, your brother has been abducted by a Mr. Eric Cartman. He broke out of the Federal Pen recently, and is considered armed and dangerous. We will be sending units your way immediately. Thank you."_

I hang up, my blood running cold. The thought of my younger brother in the hands of an escaped inmate…

I call home. Pops picks up.

_"David, where the hell are you and Ryan?"_ he asks, very worried. Oh, if only he knew…

"Pops, you're not gonna like this, but…" I trail off.

_"Tell me, David,"_ he says, very stern all of a sudden.

"He was abducted from Stark's by a man named Eric Cartman at gunpoint and taken to the old public access building," I reply. Silence on Pops' end, followed by a weak "_Oh, shit…Cartman…_"

"Pops, I already called 911, they're sending people," I say, trying to sound optimistic.

_"No, David, you don't understand,"_ he says. _"Your Dad and I are on our way. I need you to promise me you WON'T go in after Ryan."_

"Why not?" I ask.

_"Cartman has a history with your dad and me, especially me,"_ Pops says. _"A _**bad**_ history. I'm the reason he was in prison to start with. Just let the police handle it."_

"OK, Pops. I'll see you soon," I say, hanging up. I will do no such thing. My brother's in danger, and it's my fault in the first place, for letting him run off. As I hear the first sirens in the distance, I remember the back door and head for it.

As I reach it, the first gunshots are fired. Full-automatic weapon set to "rock'n'roll." It gives me pause, but also the perfect opportunity to open the door as the police return fire.

Hang on, Ryan!

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

It's somewhat strange that before I was abducted and brought here, all I wanted to do was die. And now that I'm in a situation with a near-100-percent probability of that happening, I'm scared out of my mind. That man _WILL_ kill me before this is over. He told me so the second we got here. The only thing is, I think he was planning on having more time. Somebody must have seen him take me from Stark's. But who?

Barely audible over the gunfire, I hear a distant creak. Apparently my captor doesn't, because he's still returning fire at the cops. As soon as the ammo ran out on the assault rifle, he threw it aside in favor of two nine-millimeter pistols, for which he seems to have enough ammo to kill every cop in Park County ten times over.

Out of the corner of my eye I see someone over by a stack of crates, using them as cover. Hesitantly, I sneak a peek and see David staring back at me. He begins to signal me a message about the space between the two stacks of crates, but pauses when one of my captor's guns jams and he throws it over David's way. He picks it up as my captor draws a _**THIRD**_ pistol and continues firing, and finishes explaining the plan: I sprint over and hide behind the crates, he shoots my captor in the back, and we run out the back door. To accomplish step two, he uses skills he must have picked up from Great-Uncle Jimbo and un-jams the gun, which still has a half-clip in it by my reckoning.

Well, alright. Either way, I die. Either by chance or choice, I'll cease to be a problem to anyone here. Just as my captor starts in on a fresh clip, I spring up and run for David, and safety.

I don't see him turn and point the other gun. All I see is the panicked look on David's face. All I hear is the sudden, echoing

**BANG!!!!!!!!**

**-.-**

**David's POV**

Everything seems to go in slow motion after the shot. I can see Ryan sprinting towards me, but his movements – so sharp all of ten seconds ago – seem sluggish. It seems like I can even see the bullet as well, but it's quicker than Ryan, and closes the gap quickly.

His expression as the bullet penetrates his back changes from one of focus to one that combines shock, pain, and fear. He loses his footing due to the impact and pitches forward, crumpling as he hits the floor and stays still.

Everything speeds up.

"RYAN!!" I yell, and my gun arm snaps up without any thought on my part. I stand up and sight Cartman over the crates. He's got a gun pointed my way too.

"One Jew-spahn down, one to go," he says with a devious smirk.

"Don't think about it, FUCKER," I spit, pulling the trigger. "No one – " shot "-fucks-" shot "with my little brother!!" Shot. Shot. All five hit him in the chest, and as he goes down he wears a surprised look.

"Alwahs…thought it would be Kahl," he says, slumping forward and dying. I pause, breathing heavily from the adrenalin rush, before I drop the gun and remember… "Ryan!"

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

It hurts. It hurts so much. He shot me so that he missed everything important. I'm going to _bleed_ to death.

I hear David scream my name, and tears come to my eyes as I realize that I'll never get a chance at the other interpretation of that double entendre. Not that I had one to begin with, but…

I hear five shots. I feel the thud of my captor striking the floor. There's a pause, followed by frantic footfalls and David yelling my name again. But it seems fainter this time around, like I've got cotton in my ears.

There's a jolt, and I'm looking into David's face, his beautiful green eyes swimming with tears and wearing an expression of worry. But try as I might, I can't focus on my love. The bright light draws my attention, and I feel a lot lighter and relaxed. Kind of like I'm floating.

"Ryan? Dude? Can you hear me?" His voice is soooo faint…and I can see a figure at the end of the light tunnel…

**-.-**

**David's POV**

"Ryan!" I cry, frantically. He's not responding, and he looks really out of it. He has lost a lot of blood…

"Dude, don't you die on me!" I don't know what I'd do without him. We have our differences, but we're still close. We've always been close. He's my twin. I can't let him die…not if there's anything I can do to stop it.

As I try to get his attention, my mind wanders back to the event that led to this.

_"David." His hand reaches out to stop me from leaving. "I love you." With a strength I never would have expected from him, Ryan pulls me in and crashes his lips on mine in a passionate kiss from which I pull back, stunned._

_I just got a love-kiss from a man. And not just a man, my brother. My TWIN brother. I have a confused look on my face, questioning. Ryan apparently reads something else, and mutters a quick "I'm sorry" before dashing off into the woods._

We've been through our fair share of trials and tribulations, and we've always been there for each other. If Ryan dies, I'll lose a huge part of my life. We've been closer than most twin pairs. What would I do without him? Could I, in fact, do anything without him?

Suddenly, I feel a clearing in my brain as all the things I've been pondering since the kiss answer themselves, with the answers clicking into place to formulate the number one reason why I can't let Ryan die.

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

The tunnel's getting narrower, and the light is starting to block out my view of David and the room. I can start to make out a figure at the end of the tunnel. As I try to identify who it is, my thoughts turn to David.

I feel a little guilty about leaving him alone in the world. We're twins, after all. Having one without the other is like having Oreos without the crème. You need the crème, or else all you have are chocolate wafers.

He'll get over it, though. He's always been more of a "people-person" than me, at times preferring the company of total strangers over mine. For him, our twin relationship has been something for David to exploit to get him help with an assignment, or to entice my participation in one of his asinine schemes. It's not like he really cares about me, after all. Not like I'm somebody he needs in his life. I'd give him less than a week after I'm buried to find some other genius to befriend and get help from.

My eyes adjust as the light suddenly dims, allowing me to identify what is in front of me. I can make out a barricade, and behind that barricade is Jesus Christ.

"Jesus?" I ask, my voice sounding hollow and disembodied. The long-haired man nods. "Why can I not pass?"

"My son, it is not yet your time," replies the Son of God.

"The hell do you mean?" I shoot back. "I've been shot in the back, probably half my blood is on the floor back there, the only person I love hates me, why SHOULDN'T I die?"

"My son, David doesn't hate you," Jesus answers. "If he hated you, would he have followed your kidnapper to your location, alerted the authorities as to his and your location, gone in after you, and killed in your defense?"

"Well…probably not," I concede. "But that's not proof he doesn't hate me. It could very well be that he only wants to parade me around the school advertising what a freak I am." Jesus shakes his head.

"Nay, Ryan…if he hated you…well, just listen," he says, making a gesture with his hand that allows me to hear David, and feel his arms as he cradles my broken body. It's fairly unsettling, to say the least, before I take a listen to him. He's…crying. My big, strong, tough-guy, uberjock twin brother is crying. What's up with him?

**-.-**

**David's POV/**_**Ryan's POV**_

I caress my brother's ashen face, which looks so pained and yet so peaceful, as I contemplate the ramifications of speaking what is on my mind.

_I feel his lightly calloused hand ghost over my face. He's never done that before, and that seems to me the gesture a lover would make. Could it be…?_

I…see where he comes from. From as far back as we can remember, we've lived up to the "two peas in a pod" saying. Ryan's never been all that well without me…ever since we entered pre-school. It really came to a head when we got to High School. Everything changed about him. When I started hanging out with others, he became distant, changed his clothes, and spent almost all his time up in his room. It was damn near impossible to get him to do anything unless you did it before coming home from school. I was so happy he's been closer to me recently…I don't want him ripped away from me! Right. Enough fortification. I've got to tell him this before I lose him forever.

"Ryan," I say.

_His voice is echoing…it's like he's repeating my name._

"I love you."

_"Love you…Love you. LoveyouloveyouIloveyou." It…can't be. David could never find it in him, not to return __**THOSE**__ feelings._

It's positively unnerving how still he remains, chest barely rising and falling without a trace of life in his eyes. He's probably gone already, and me admitting this is moot. Ergo, what I'm about to do isn't going to make any difference for him, but maybe it'll help assuage my guilt…

_I can feel a gust of air as he repositions himself, and I can make out his silhouette behind the diminishing light._

_The first kiss lands on my forehead, along with a murmured "I'm sorry, Ryan." The second hits the tip of my nose, and is accompanied by another "I'm sorry." The third hits my lips dead-on, with a tearful, "I'm so, so sorry."_

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

With that third kiss, the light fully clears up and I'm finally reunited with the excruciating pain in my back. So. Jesus was right. David loves me. At least…he did when he thought I was dying. Let's see how he reacts with me alive.

Wrenching my eyes open, I take in the scene around me. I'm draped across David's right leg. David, in turn, is openly crying now. My attacker is lying dead on the floor, and the gun David had picked up is discarded near his cover position.

"D…David?" I ask. He sniffles and looks up at me, shock written all over his face.

"Ryan!?!" he cries, and throws his arms around me, giving me a hug that hurts already _without_ him aggravating the fucking _**BULLET WOUND**_ _IN MY BACK!!_

"OW!" I cry out, and he pulls back with a sheepish smile on his face.

"Sorry…I forgot."

"Did you mean it?"

"You heard it?"

"Did you MEAN IT!?! Don't play games with me, David! This is serious!"

"Yes, Ryan, OK, I meant it. I love you. You mean too much to me for us to ever be separated." That said, he leans in for another kiss, which I happily provide, just as policemen burst in.

"We need an ambulance over here!" David yells, as Dad and Pops walk in. Dad gasps when he sees my condition, and Pops goes white as a sheet. Dad practically sprints out after an EMT crew, and within minutes I've been strapped to a stretcher and loaded into an ambulance, David whispering reassurances in my ear all the while.

**-.-**

**David's POV**

"Who goes with?" the head EMT asks Dad, Pops and me. Dad and Pops look like they're going to stand there and hash it out, but Ryan doesn't need either of them right now. He needs **me**.

"I'm going with," I announce, stepping forward. Dad and Pops open their mouths to object, but I cut them off by saying "Dad, Pops…it's a long story, and I'll tell you as soon as we get to the hospital, but trust me on this. Ryan doesn't need anyone right now more than he needs me. I'll see you soon."

I see something resembling recognition in Pops' eyes, and Dad looks both stunned and clueless as I step inside the ambulance and sit next to Ryan. As the doors close, I squeeze his hand.

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

It's amusing to watch the exchange between David, Dad, and Pops, but I'm not at all surprised when David wins out.

As he sits next to me and squeezes my hand while the doors close, I hear him whisper, "It's all going to be alright, Ryan. It'll all turn out fine."

As the ambulance turns on its siren and races towards Hell's Pass, I can't help but think that I couldn't agree more.

**-.-**

**Notes: Damn letting me increase text size...**

**Phoenix II**


	30. Reattachment

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Twenty-Nine – Reattachment_

**Disclaimer: Goes nyah.**

**Summary: Ryan and David reveal their relationship to the school.**

**Author's Notes: Well. This is looking like the longest chapter Ever Written by Me. It's a small book, to be honest. Unfortunately, since there's a VERY convenient cut-off point about half-way through this nineteen page chapter, I will leave you there and send you over to dA for the part that took me the LONGEST to write. OK, on with the show.**

**-.-**

**May 7, 2027**

**South Park, CO**

**7:30 P.M.**

**-.-**

**David's POV**

**-.-**

Well, this is it. My first social outing with Ryan after our coupling. Also, our first outing of any sort since his release from the hospital two days ago. Our Senior Prom, but as far as anyone knows, or even suspects, we're only going together because not even WE can score prom dates in 24 hours. Well. We'll have THAT perception corrected before the end of the night.

Because of the last-minute nature of the whole thing, we couldn't even get tuxes of our own. We're wearing what our parents wore to their wedding. It's not the best of fits, especially on Ryan, but it'll do for a few hours.

For the past half-hour we, as well as Danny, had been surrounded by well-wishers expressing their regret for what had happened before moving to take their positions in Grand March. For those wondering why Danny would be receiving messages of regret, it's because his Dad was the one that gave Ryan and I up to Cartman. After thanking him, Cartman had shot him right through the heart. He'd been dead an hour before Danny had arrived home and found him. I didn't find out about it until about a minute before he showed up in Ryan's hospital room the second day of my brother's recovery.

**-.-**

_"Hey, dude, how're you holding up?" I asked._

_"Pretty well, actually," he replied. "I mean … I know I should feel sad that my dad's dead, and I kind of do, but … he was nothing but an asshole to me from Day One, and most of me is glad he's dead and hoping that he's burning in hell along with that guy you busted a cap in."_

_"Where are you gonna stay?" I asked. "I mean … your mom doesn't want you all of a sudden, does she?"_

_"The President of Raisins International admit she has a _SON_ of all things? Never," Danny groused. "Your Dad already told me I'll be staying with you guys over the summer and during breaks and stuff. On the couch, because I can't trust being in either of you guys' rooms. Now that you're going to be doing it, y'know … as much as I'd like to watch, there's no way you guys would go for it." Well, he's right about that, at least._

_"Dude!" I replied. "You're damn right we wouldn't! That's … gay."_

_"Says the boy who wants to do his brother."_

_"Oh shut up," I muttered, going back to holding Ryan's hand while he sleeps, and running my thumb along the faint scars on his arms. I knew what they were, I'm almost certain, but I looked to Danny for confirmation._

_"Danny…what're these?" I asked._

_"Scars," he replied, looking at me like I'm an idiot._

_"How'd he get them?"_

_"Emo stuff."_

_"You mean cutting?"_

_"Like I said, emo stuff," Danny said in a non-committal tone. "You think that's bad, you should see some of the stuff he did when he was shamelessly crushing on you in private."_

_A rush of fear runs through me as I hesitantly asked "What kind of stuff?"_

_"Arty stuff, dude. He was good at drawing emo art. You should ask him to have a look at it. Or maybe ask Uncle Kyle."_

_"Pops knows about it?"_

_"Uncle Kyle HAS most of it."_

_"Maybe I will … thanks, Danny."_

_"Sure, David. I'll see you at home."_

_"Yeah, see ya," I said disinterestedly, turning my attention back to Ryan…_

**-.-**

Ryan and I are at the end of the line for Grand March, right behind Danny and the giggling girl on his arm. I think he introduced her as "Alexis," but I'm not sure. They just moved into the spotlight, allowing Mr. Hendrickson, the Econ teacher, to announce them, which allows _THEM_ to proceed down the red carpet in the gym. Oh. It WAS Alexis. Yay, I'm not crazy.

"Let's knock 'em dead," Ryan whispers into my ear as the spotlight comes back our way and he breaks off all physical contact. No sense in tipping anybody off too soon, after all.

"_And, finally, David Broflovski and Ryan Marsh._" The spotlight doesn't stay on us for very long. I guess they don't care about the poor "dateless" bastards. As the music comes on, Ryan drags me out to where the tables and punchbowl have been set up. Giving in and allowing myself to be manhandled by my scrawnier and weaker younger brother and boyfriend before he goes off to fetch a couple of drinks allows me to think back over the first major event after Ryan was released to a recovery room and downgraded to "stable" after emergency surgery that left me pacing in the waiting room as Dad and Pops accosted me.

**-.-**

_"David!" Pops exclaimed, rushing over to me with Dad on his heels. "Where's Ryan?"_

_"They've got him in surgery," I said, trying to calm myself down in order to be able to explain myself to my parents._

_"What happened in there?" Dad asked, and before I could even open my mouth, Pops added another question. "And what the hell were you doing in there anyway? I told you to wait for the police!"_

_"I went in there because I needed to fix a mistake I'd made earlier."_

_"What?" Dad asked. "What mistake?"_

_"It's my fault Ryan got abducted in the first place!"_

_"How do you figure?" Pops asked._

_"I didn't stop him."_

_"Stop him from what? David, you're not making any sense here!" said Dad, with a very puzzled look on his face._

_"Running. After he kissed me. I was just too shocked. He looked into my eyes, stared for a moment, then just broke contact and ran."_

_"After he _**WHAT**_!?!" Dad exclaimed, while Pops just smirked. I _KNEW _it! I knew I saw something earlier! They planned this! Ryan and Pops planned this! Well, at least, everything up to – and probably including – the kiss, anyway._

_"Kissed him. Do you need your hearing checked, Stan?" Pops answered for me._

_"Kyle!" Dad sounded frantic. "Did you have any part in this?"_

_"Remember that thing we talked about a while ago? When I had you shadow David for that day?" Wait, what? "This is the result. Ryan told you how he felt, right?" Pops asked me. Dumbfounded, I nod. I expected a plot, but … just how far back does this _GO

_"And then he kissed you?" Another nod._

_"And then he _RAN_!?!" Another nod._

_"Why the fuck would he run?"_

_"I guess he saw something else in my eyes," I replied._

_"So, he ran. To Stark's, you said?" Pops asked._

_"Yeah. I guess. I mean, by the time I'd come to my senses enough to chase after him, he was long out of sight. I just picked Stark's 'cuz that's where he normally goes to think."_

_"And when you got there?" Dad asked._

_"I got there just in time to see that Cartman guy forcing him into his truck. So, I chased after the truck. Thankfully it was going slow and not very far, so I was able to keep up, but once he and Ryan were inside the P.A. building, I called 911, called you, and went in."_

_"I told you to wait!" Pops insisted. "You told me you wouldn't go in!!"_

_"Ryan's my brother!" I objected. "You can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same for Uncle Ike!"_

_"Touché," Pops replied. "So, you went in. Then what happened?"_

_"While Cartman was distracted by shooting at the police, I got Ryan's attention and tried to get him to come over to me. I'd picked up and un-jammed a gun he'd thrown aside, and the plan was once he was safely behind cover, I'd shoot Cartman in the back and we'd sneak out the way I'd come."_

_"You said the plan _WAS_," Pops was quick to point out. "What went wrong?"_

_"Ryan was seen. Cartman shot him, and turned his gun on me. But I shot him five times myself, right in the chest, and I went to Ryan's side. He was in pretty bad shape, and I'm almost CERTAIN he SHOULD be dead. But after I told him that I loved him too, and apologized for getting him shot, and kissed him … it was like he'd been healed by God."_

_"You _WHAT_!?!" thundered Dad, which amused the hell out of Pops, who comes over to me._

_"Good for you," he said. "Do you understand now what's been wrong with Ryan these past four years?"_

_"Yeah," I replied. "All this time, and I had no real idea…"_

**-.-**

"You alive over here?" Ryan asks, jolting me back to reality and handing me a cup of something I assume to be punch.

"Huh?" I ask, taking it. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Thinking about what you're going to do with the reward money?" Oh, the reward money.

**-.-**

_I sighed in exasperation when _ANOTHER _guy in a black suit and sunglasses came into Ryan's room. The past few days had been FULL of State Police, Park County police, Park County Sheriffs, and FBI guys interrogating Ryan and I about what happened. He needed _REST_, Goddamnit all to hell!"_

_"David Broflovski?" he asked._

_"Yeah, what the hell do YOU want?"_

_"On behalf of the Governor of the State of Colorado, I am honored to present you the Colorado Legion of Merit medal, and on behalf of the FBI, for the apprehension of the Tenth Most Wanted Man in America, a check for ten million dollars. Congratulations, Mr. Broflovski," he said, offering me the items, and his hand. I took both, setting the medal and check on Ryan's bed, and shaking his hand for the cameraman who had mysteriously appeared in the doorway._

_"The actual ceremony will take place in a few weeks in Denver. Congratulations again."_

_"Thank you," I said as he left, picking up the medal and check to stare at while Ryan whistled in disbelief._

**-.-**

"David? Hello?" Ryan asks, waving theatrically. "I know the daydreams about our Malibu mansion must be fascinating, but…"

"Oh, shut up," I chuckle. "I don't want a Malibu mansion. Private jet is another story entirely."

"So you can fly me wherever I want, right?"

"So I can fly you wherever _I_ want," I clarify. "How does a World Sex Tour sound to you?"

"You want to do me in every country in the world?" he asks. I nod. "Even Africa?"

"Even Iceland," I say. "All 200 nations, and all 50 states."

"And when are we going to do all this?" Ryan asks.

"This summer, whenever we get a break from college, the odd weekend here and there…"

"Over 250 days?" he asks. "Hmm…90 days of Summer, a week of Thanksgiving Break, six weeks of Christmas Break, a week of Spring Break…it'll take the better part of a couple of years, but why not?"

"Exactly! I wonder if I can buy a private jet on EBay…"

"Probably," Ryan says, taking a sip of the punch before taking both of our cups and emptying them onto a plastic shrubbery.

"Goddamnit, Katie spiked it. Gimme a couple bucks so I can get us water from the vending machine," he says, hand outstretched.

"Fine…" I say, pulling out my wallet and handing him the cash. "But I want a dance after this!!"

"Fine!" he says, heading for the machine and buying two bottles of water.

"Y'know…" he says, coming back, tossing me one and taking a drink from his own, "by the time we finish these, it'll be about time for a slow dance…"

"So soon?" I ask.

"Why not?" he replies. "This sucks anyway. I wanna go home and check off Colorado." OK!! Not gonna argue with that!

**-.-**

**Ryan's POV**

**-.-**

I can already hear the whispers as David leads me out onto the dance floor. Whispers that increase as he holds me tightly. Whispers that continue as the next song comes on. Especially since the DJ announces that it comes at the request of David Broflovski. Even _MORE_ especially since it's the Tango.

Now, something you might not know about David: he can dance. He has rhythm. He doesn't _THINK_ he can dance, he _KNOWS_ he can dance. Especially Latin. It's one of his secret passions. A few summers ago he bought an instructional DVD in the discount bin at Wal-Mart, out of pure curiosity. He spent the rest of the summer in his room with a coat rack, learning, practicing, breaking things, swearing, and practicing some more. He is an expert at the Tango. Last year on this same dance floor, he stunned the entire school by leading an actually decent-looking Katie McKormick (a feat in and of itself, but I digress) through a perfectly-executed Tango. And now he's planning to do it again.

Remembering from last year, how Katie completely gave up all control to David, I relax and allow myself to be twirled, dragged, spun, and slid all over the gym floor. I think only a few people – Latinos, for the most part – are trying the dance themselves. The rest are gawking, staring, at us, and whispering.

I, however, see none of it. My eyes are fixed on David's, watching them dance and sparkle with happiness and passion as we dance through the crowd. I feel the heat of a spotlight on us. When David forces me to break eye contact to execute a twirl, I catch a glimpse of Katie standing next to Jason, seething. Her fists are clenched at her sides, and a blind man could see the throbbing vein on her whorishly made-up face, the rage-filled face…

Just as soon as I see this, I'm back in David's arms, the song is winding down, and his mouth is moving down to cover mine … and though my mind is screaming "bad idea, bad idea, don't do it!", my immediate reaction is to melt into David's kiss, and return it, to the general shock of the crowd. As the spotlight pulls away, David does as well, smiling all the while.

What happens next is definite cause for a frown. Without our notice, Katie has stormed over to where we happily stand. Quickly, she shoves David aside and backhands me with a slap that quickly draws all attention our way.

**-.-**

**David's POV**

**-.-**

Quickly recovering from Katie's shove, I witness the slap that actually echoes through the gym, so loud and with enough force that it knocks Ryan to the floor. Not yet satisfied, she picks him up and slams him into the bleachers. His back!! I see him wince, but all that pales in comparison to the hurtful words that pour from her mouth.

"You _FAG_!!" she shrieks. "You fucked up, sniveling little bastard! He's your _BROTHER_!! You going for guys is bad enough, you sinner, blaspheming the laws of God, but to drag your brother into your sin, to condemn him to Hell alongside your pathetic, worthless carcass? How _COULD _you!?! What has David ever done to make you hate him like this? Why would you do it, you son of a whore? What you're doing is WRONG! You're not _SUPPOSED_ to want to ass-rape your brother! You stupid, fucking, cock-sucking, ass-munching, FAGGOT!!"

All while she rants, Ryan has slid to the floor, but her angry glare and hate speech follows. I'm sure that he'd known that he would eventually hear this, but NOT from someone he considered a friend. She continues her bigoted tirade, and he looks to me, tears welling up in his eyes, for help.

Straightening up, I stride over there and grab her fist as she threatens to hit Ryan again.

"Let me go, David!" she snarls. In response, I twirl _her_ around and slam _her_ into the bleachers.

"YOU listen up, bitch, and listen good, because I'm only going to say all of this once," I hiss, taking the wind out of her sails.

"You have Absolutely NO right to attack Ryan the way you just did. And I bet you were gonna do WORSE, weren't you?" A fearful nod is my reply.

"You're trying to take the moral high ground, aren't you? Trying to frighten him away from his love by bastardizing your religion? I may not know much about Christianity, but manipulating the teachings of your prophet is NOT something you do.

"Katie, the moral high ground was never yours to take! That loving boy you've reduced to tears over there is a better person than you'll EVER be. You know it, don't you? His ONE flaw, if you would call it that, is loving me. Mine is loving him back. But you, Katie, yours are too many to get you out of the moral lowlands.

"As long as I can remember, I lusted after you. You were pretty. You knew that, and you exploited it. You knew ALL the boys loved you, loved your looks, and made yourself into ALL looks. And STILL the males went after you. All of us except for Ryan." I pause, making it sound like I've had an epiphany. And, actually, disturbingly, I think I _HAVE_.

"That's it, isn't it? You're not pissed off at him because he's in love with me, are you? You're pissed because he's not in love with YOU! You're _OBSESSED_ with him, because he's the ONLY one out of ALL of us who _**NEVER PLAYED YOUR LITTLE GAME!!**_ He saw right through you, and that scared the Hell out of you. So you played it up, trying everything you could think of to win him over. All the dresses, all the make-up, all the boyfriends…all of it was to try to get SOME sort of a reaction out of Ryan. Out of some strange, bizarre hope that he would finally snap and come profess an admiration for you that he could no longer keep hidden, just because you couldn't STAND to think that there was one person out there who didn't like what you were, and could resist you," I accuse, pausing once more as the even greater ramifications of what I'm saying hits me.

"My GOD! The times we dated, the concern you expressed for Ryan … it was all an act! If you had been able to manage it, you would have gone and tried your comforting act on him! And even this … dating Jason, the person he hates most, it's just to try and get a reaction out of him! You fucking _PLAYED _me … and I _LET_ you!! I gave you _EVERYTHING_, but all you wanted was SOMETHING from Ryan! You were acting, you've BEEN acting, all these years, just to try and get SOMETHING from Ryan. You cold, cruel, shrewd, calculating, heartless, slutty BITCH!! All those wasted years, bouncing from guy to guy, just trying to get a reaction from my brother. All the broken hearts you left in your wake … including my own. Was it worth it, Katie? Now that you know, without a SHRED of doubt, that you'll never get Ryan? Now that you know the _REASON,_ the big, ultimate Reason, why he's never paid any attention to you? Not because he's smarter and more clever than you, even though he is, but because he wants nothing to do with YOU, or ANYONE of your gender … was it _**WORTH**_ it, Katie?" I ask, quietly, at the end, releasing her hand and watching her run off in tears.

Jason, and everybody else in the gymnasium, is just standing there, awestruck.

"Well?" I ask him, moving to help up Ryan. "Aren't you going to go after your date?"

"After all that?" he asks. "David, I had no idea…but if all you said was true, and I'm pretty sure it is…she's had this coming. Congrats, man." And then, Jason Harris, archenemy of me and Ryan, starts _applauding_ me. Nobody else does for a while, but then Jason gives them his "linebacker" look and Ryan and I are inundated by applause. Ryan just looks embarrassed as hell and buries his face in my chest, allowing me to hold him close.

And _THEN_, from God only knows where, as the applause dies down, the DJ starts playing "Ding-Dong the Witch is Dead" from _The Wizard of Oz_. The gym explodes in laughter, and I lead Ryan out into the Commons. I'm quite ready to go home and spend the rest of the night expressing my love for Ryan, but it appears we have one more hurdle to leap first. I'd completely forgotten the parent chaperones, and now Uncle Kenny is storming out way. And it looks like his Irish is up.

"What the HELL did you just say to my little girl!?!" he demands. "She just ran by me, crying her eyes out, not a minute after I hear you shouting in the Gym!"

I relay both Katie's actions and my response to him.

"So, wait…you love Ryan, you kiss him after the Tango, she gets pissed and slaps _him_ because she's obsessed with making him like her, and that's why she dresses like, wears the make-up of, and acts like a whore with the rest of the school?" he asks. Trust me, he's not the only one confused by that.

"Yep, pretty much," I reply.

"Heh," he responds. "Women."

"Really."

"Alright then … sorry for yelling atcha David…you and Ryan have a nice night!" he says with a wink, patting me on the back and heading off, probably to look for Dad and Pops. Or to just get drunk off his ass trying to make sense of it all.

"Thanks Uncle Ken!" I call after him, continuing to lead Ryan outside, and over to the Jeep, where I help him into the passenger seat and buckle him in.

"Home?" I ask, getting in my own seat and buckling up myself.

"Home," he confirms as I start up the Jeep and back out of the lot.

**-.-**

**Author's Notes: WOOT! The largest chapter in my writing history is done! And…there is only one more left in the story! As you may expect, the full chapter is going up on deviantART. Link to my dA is on my profile. Comment away!**

**Phoenix II**


	31. Resolution

**Aunque Mi Vida Me Cuesta**

_Chapter Thirty – Resolution_

**Disclaimer: Last time for this, yay!**

**Summary: The story ends.**

**Notes: I'll say more at the end, but up here I just wanna say thanks to all those that read this story and pushed me over the century mark for reviews for the first time ever! I still get chills every time I check out that review count…**

**-.-**

**August 29, 2027**

**Boulder, CO**

**5:00 P.M.**

**-.-**

**David's POV**

**-.-**

"Alright, that's everything," I announce, carrying the last box of stuff into the dorm room I'm going to be sharing with Ryan. I think this box has our porn in it. Uncle Kenny was more than happy to unload all his gay porn on us once he found out. Dad had pinched the bridge of his nose when he found out what Uncle Ken had done, and Pops had gone off on a rant that had taken Dad _hours_ to calm him down from. Ryan spent that night in my room. He didn't want the make-up sex to keep him awake all night. He was still up until two getting regular sex from me, though, so I don't really see much difference.

"Great!" Ryan announces. "Put it over by the TV," he says, looking up from where he's helping Dad put the two beds together and adjust them to the same height. The room's walls have been covered in Rockies posters and Buffaloes propaganda, there the bed has soft pillows and mattress padding, the desks are adorned with two high-end computers, and a 32 inch plasma-screen TV with a DVD player sits on a bureau. Our clothes have been hung in the small areas for hanging clothes, and our shower materials are on a shelf behind them. Suitcases are under the bed for trips home and/or abroad for Ryan and me in my jet.

"Now, David, Ryan," Dad says, "promise your Pops and I that you're going to actually study more than male anatomy." Ha. I love it when they say corny lines like that. It amuses me. Of course I'm gonna study more than Ryan's body. I have it memorized, hehe. That doesn't mean I'll turn down memory refreshment now and again, but I don't need to study him…

"Hey, I don't need to study!" Ryan protests. "I'm a genius, remember?" Oh yes…the fact that you can beg me to fuck you harder in three languages isn't something I'm liable to forget. It might get inconvenient when we go to France and that's the only French I know, so I look like a whore while you ask directions back to our hotel, but I'm satisfied with it for the moment.

"You're also taking Honors classes," Pops reminds him. "They're hard, Ryan."

"Yeah, well I might be too!" Ryan exclaims, making Pops flush scarlet. And if he is, nobody alive is going to stop me from taking care of him. Even if it's just a simple handjob.

"Honors and Psychology. You have your work cut out for you. David, don't let him sex you up the night before he has papers due," Dad says, before pondering. "Better make that two nights. And you, Mister Redshirt Freshman Walk-on Quarterback slash Economics Major, no sex on Friday nights during the season." Fun-killer. That's Dad, when Pops isn't doing it. Fun-killer. Of course, my being on the football team is going to open up a whole new world of possibilities. I can do Ryan on the fifty-yard line one night, and in the locker room, and in the press box, and in the luxury suites, anywhere in the stadium, pretty much. I can't wait.

"Yes sir," I grumble. "Ryan, if you're hard on Fridays, you're just going to have to jack it." Now it's my brother's turn to blush. Heh, he's not the only one allowed to make crude statements in front of our parents.

"Now, are you guys ready to go to dinner?" Dad asks, checking his watch. For the last time we'll be eating together until probably Thanksgiving, Dad and Pops made reservations at this Italian place in Boulder that's supposedly one of the best places in the state. Mmm…noodles…

"Actually," I say, "Ryan and I want to break in this bed before hand. Our reservations aren't for another hour, right?" Dad nods. "Alright then, we'll meet you there then."

"Just this once," Pops murmurs, before Dad steers him out and shuts the door behind them, leaving Ryan and I alone in our room. Hell-oooooo, sexy-action time! I go over to the door and make sure it's locked before turning back to Ryan, who's shut the blinds and is already down to underwear. Grinning, I peel off my tee-shirt and gym shorts after kicking my sandals across the room and stride over to join him, kissing him gently and pressing him backwards onto the bed.

**-.-**

Half an hour later, when we're in the bathroom washing up and straightening damnable ties from Hell, a guy comes up to us. I don't acknowledge his presence at first, because I'm trying to correctly knot this fucking red silk tie that's more slippery than a snake, but once I finish and look further into the mirror than just the action going on around my neck, I look up and see him. Ryan turns around from drying his hands at the sound of his voice.

"Hey, you're the guys in 302, right?" he asks. I nod. Maybe we're meeting one of our floor-mates. He's not the RA, we met him downstairs when we were getting our room keys.

"I'm Jake, I live across the hall. Those two guys that helped you move in…are they gay?"

"Yeah," I respond. "Got a problem?"

"Nah, I ain't got a problem. Fagspawn," he chuckles, like it's a totally new insult he just came up with. I look over at Ryan, and for once he doesn't look wounded at the insult.

Instead, he does something that makes me five times prouder to be his brother and his lover, and rears back, punching Jake in the face. Grinning, I grab his hand and drag him out the door, running for the stairs and our dinner.

_**Fin**_

**Notes: Blah, sorry this is so short, but there's not really that much that needed to go in here. I'm not going to go make a list of everyone who reviewed, because we'd be here until next Friday, but I am going to just give a general THANKS to all of you who did, and shake a fish at all those who didn't, even though I appreciate them as well.**

**It's been about seven months since this baby first hit the Internets, and has seen what I would hope is a little bit of maturation in my writing and my style. I know there remain a few things that I could improve, but I'll get around to them in due course.**

**A couple of you wanted to know more about the dropped subplot that involved Butters' murder at the hands of Cartman, and I just wanted you to know that me going back and writing that is a possibility. A small possibility, but a possibility none the less.**

**Aside from that, just more thanks, and lots of love, and I'll see you around.**

**Phoenix II**


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